


Yearning To Hold You Close

by Guanin



Category: Good Omens (TV), Richard II - Shakespeare
Genre: Agender Character, Angst, Asexual Aziraphale (Good Omens), Asexual Character, Asexual Crowley (Good Omens), Based on David Tennant's Production, Conflicted Aziraohale, Depressed Crowley (Good Omens), Gen, M/M, Mutual Pining, Other, Sensuality, Slow Burn, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-08-13 03:48:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 27,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20167651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Guanin/pseuds/Guanin
Summary: Aziraphale had been tasked with King Richard's spiritual wellbeing. He failed. Now deposed and alone in a prison cell, Richard prays to Aziraphale for forgiveness. How can Aziraphale do anything but grant it? And how can he leave Richard to his fate when he could help him escape, even if his only recourse is to beg Crowley's help? The demon who he forces himself to keep at a distance, whose love has become tangled with the king's, who resembles him so closely.





	1. Chapter 1

Richard’s prayer arrived while Aziraphale indulged in his morning reading. He almost creased the page he was turning as he jerked in shock at the unexpected plea. Humans weren’t aware of his angelic nature, so prayers were not something that he ever concerned himself with, so he was completely unprepared for the sudden onset of grievous words pouring into his mind like icy water splashing on his face. Angels who were accustomed to this had a system so that they could file their prayers for later if they were too busy at the moment to attend to them. But Aziraphale had never needed to train for it, so he found himself gasping in his chair, body frozen, overwhelmed as empathy swelled inside him like a hurricane at the agony that Richard bombarded him with. Richard was in so much pain. His body languished in a freezing dungeon, near starvation, while his spirit screamed in remorse and despair. Aziraphale’s eyes shut in agony, tears streaming down his cheeks as he choked back a sob.

Aziraphale had been ordered to guide the young king and temper his reckless carelessness with his kingdom’s and family’s affairs. He had done so willingly in the guise of a nobleman whose name and title mortal minds were dissuaded from inquiring about too closely. Like with most humans, Aziraphale had found a man with many faults, but also many virtues. Petty, yes, and rash, but also kind to those he loved and an admirer of beauty in all its forms, as well as a gifted conversationalist. They had wiled away many hours in philosophical debates and being entertained by the artists that Richard patronized in his court. The pleasures of his table were also nothing to sniff at. And there had been a bit more beside, although not as much as Richard wanted. Lingering touches in the night and tender kisses brought Aziraphale joy even as he wondered at Richard’s uncanny resemblance to another whose affection, while not equivalent, he would rather share. 

Yet despite Aziraphale’s best efforts, Richard had committed too many a misstep, and instead of being given time to correct them, Heaven had withdrawn the grace it had formerly granted him at his anointing and given their favor to Richard’s cousin Henry Bolingbroke. He was a fine sort, Aziraphale supposed, and Richard had done him wrong. Oh, how Aziraphale had counseled him against such mercurial action. But Richard was so willful. He could have learned, though, to do better. A near escape from the wrath of Bolingbroke would have provided a lesson in humility, if only Bolingbroke had been persuaded to limit his demands to the return of the lands that Richard had taken from him and not sought to steal the crown as well. Despite his better judgment, Aziraphale had hovered above the throne room during Richard’s deposition, leaving his mortal body at home so that none would see him, and watched in distressed horror as Richard was forced to crown his impostor cousin king, bemoaning his miserable lot all the while. He was garbed in no more than a simple, linen shift and a cross on a slim chain, his feet bare against the cold, stone floor, barely clinging to what little remained of his dignity as he flattered and kneeled before his usurper.

His heart breaking, Aziraphale ached to dress him in his former brocades and furs, and to take the crown from Bolingbroke’s head and place it atop Richard’s anew. But he was forbidden from interfering. He had made Richard’s case, pleaded that he should be given a chance to atone with his regal power intact, and thus the full life he deserved. Now he was only being allowed weeks, months at most, before he was inevitably murdered. For usurpers wouldn’t suffer those they had taken the crown from to live. There would always be the risk of plots to return the former king to the throne. It was hardly the first time this had happened in England, nor would it be the last, from what he had heard. Richard’s removal would bring further death to the people in England for generations to come. Aziraphale really didn’t understand why he was being ordered to stand back with so much suffering on the line, but he wasn’t privy to the entirety of the divine plan. None of them were. He must not question orders too closely. It was all for the best, no matter how upsetting it felt now. It had to be.

But while the future worked itself out, Richard was in agony and crying out in remorse for Aziraphale, even though he couldn’t possibly know that Aziraphale could hear him. His words weren’t exactly a prayer, but they were close enough that the message came through. He was apologizing for not heeding Aziraphale’s exhortations when it could have made a difference, for following his petty whims and the rotten advice of his other courtiers. 

_I took your company too much in vain_, Richard moaned. _I should have listened to you. I would still be king if I had. Gloucester would be alive. Lancaster alive. Bolingbroke a subject like he should be now. I couldn’t see it before. It didn’t seem possible back then. My doom. That my actions would lead me to destruction. Didn’t you tell me that once? That last time before I banished you from my sight. It pained me to do so, and yet I did. Forgive my temper. Forgive all. Oh, if only it were possible for you to do so, but you’re not here. No one is here but me. Not in this little world of stone and dust and my grief raining from my eyes. The rats come out sometimes. Terrible company. They bite my toes. I kick them, but then I’m sorry when they leave, for then, once again, there’s no one here but me._

Aziraphale couldn’t listen anymore. With a groan of despair, he closed his eyes and focused his spirit to Pomfret Castle in the cold, northern territory where Richard now resided, if you could call his imprisonment that. His body came with him this time. Richard might think himself mad if he saw only Aziraphale’s spirit, and Aziraphale did not want that. Richard’s mind was already so fragile, so close to the brink. His death was only a few weeks away. What harm could it do to speak to him now? Was Aziraphale not an angel? While it might not be part of his assignment on Earth, was it still not his duty to comfort wretched souls? And Richard was asking for him. Aziraphale couldn’t disdain the only prayer he had ever received, especially not from an old friend. 

He reappeared in the midst of a gloomy space. Richard’s cell had the breadth of a large bedroom, but no other luxury. Nowhere to sleep but the hard ground, no light but for the slivers that peeked through a tiny grate too far up on the wall for Richard to look out at the world. A bucket of water provided his only nourishment. But Aziraphale couldn’t concern himself with the horror of Richard’s present situation right now, for his friend was screaming. At him. Aziraphale had interrupted him mid-prayer. Richard had scuttled backward, crashing against the far wall, gaping at him in terror. Aziraphale should have materialized in the corridor outside instead. Richard wouldn’t be scared then, only surprised to see him.

“I’m seeing things,” Richard whined, his whole body shaking. He looked so thin. He had always been, but now his collarbones were jutting out of his filthy, torn shift, and his skin was wan with sickly pallor. His hair hung in oily, tangled strands around his head, as dirty as his shift, and a beard covered his chin and jaw. He had never liked having one of those. “My sanity has truly broken now. Or else the demons have come to torment me before I am due in hell.”

“I’m not a demon, I promise you, my old friend.” Aziraphale kept his voice low and calm. “Nor have you gone mad. I am here.”

Richard shook his head, covering his eyes with his hands as he bent forward. 

“No. No, no, you can’t be. It’s not true. My imagination is toying with me.”

“It isn’t.”

Heart bleeding at Richard’s sorry state, Aziraphale stepped forward, but he stopped short of touching him. 

“Richard. Please look at me.”

Richard shook his head again, even more frantically. 

“No. You’re not here.”

“I am here. Please, my dear. Come, touch me. Feel that I’m really beside you.”

Aziraphale stretched out his hand. Richard’s breath shuddered. With unbearable slowness, he uncovered his face and peered between Aziraphale’s face and his hand, terror in his eyes. With slow, jerky movements, he reached out with his right hand, biting his bottom lip and sucking it into his mouth. When his hand connected with Aziraphale’s, he cried out again, shaking.

“No! It can’t be. You can’t be here.” He looked over Aziraphale’s form, gaze wild, scrutinizing every bit of him. “I saw you appear out of the air. Such things are not possible.”

“They are for me. I’m afraid I haven’t been upfront with you about who I am. I’m not a nobleman. I’m not any kind of man at all, actually. I’m an angel.”

Richard frowned as if Aziraphale were having a laugh at his expense. 

“What? No, you can’t be. No angel would visit me here. If one of my friends were an angel, my cousin wouldn’t have been able to cast me out. And one of my friends wouldn’t be an angel to begin with.”

“I am an angel. I heard you praying to me. Well, not praying exactly, but it was close enough that I could hear you. Look.”

Taking a breath, Aziraphale stretched out his wings. Richard rocked back against the wall, eyes widening, gasping. In case that wasn’t enough confirmation (which it wasn’t, really, with demons’ wings being so similar), Aziraphale shifted his clothes into traditional robes of the purest white with gold embroidery and allowed his natural glow to shine. Not so much as to blind Richard, of course. That would be awful, but just enough that there was no mistaking that he spoke the truth. Richard fell hard on his knees, moaning as he brought his hands up to his mouth. 

“Oh, dear God,” he whined, shaking voice barely above a whisper, before falling forward on his face, scrambling at the floor. “Forgive me, I beg you.”

Oh, no. This wasn’t what Aziraphale wanted at all. Withdrawing his glowing spirit back in his mortal body, Aziraphale rushed to him, crouching down and touching his head. Richard cried out, sobbing into the filthy floor. 

“Richard, please. There’s no need for any of this. You need not beg forgiveness from me.”

“How can I not when I have sinned against you? I have ignored your commands. Asked you to share my bed. Good God in Heaven, I am the most wretched of sinners acting so towards an angel of the Lord.”

“You are hardly that. There are much, much worse, believe me. Please, my dear, sit up. Don’t kneel like that to me. I don’t want it.”

Richard sucked in a breath, then quickly scrambled up, but his haste appeared to be due to fear of disobeying a command and not because he was convinced that Aziraphale meant no hostility toward him. He swayed uncertainly on his feet, clutching his hands in front of him, head down, reddened gaze fixed upon the ground. Aziraphale sighed as he stood up. He hadn’t expected this to be easy, but how he hated to see a friend so afraid of him. 

“Richard,” he said, as softly as before. “Please look at me.”

“I dare not, my lord.”

“Why not? And please don’t call me that.”

“How should I address you then, angel of the Lord?”

“My name actually is Aziraphale. Just call me that, like always.”

A hysterical laugh shrieked from Richard’s mouth.

“I, who am nothing even in the eyes of men, wouldn’t presume to call an angel by his name.”

“Richard, please.”

Aziraphale placed his hands on Richard’s shoulders like he had done so many times before. Richard gasped, trembling, but he didn’t move away. Richard squeezed his lips, and slowly, painfully slowly, raised his head, eyes lagging behind until he steeled himself to meet Aziraphale’s. Richard was a bit taller than him, so he was looking down at him. He had once found his greater height fitting as king, but Aziraphale suspected that he found it presumptuous now. His face was filled with dismay and the most wretched agony. Aziraphale smiled, projecting calm and soothing thoughts to his weary bones, healing the cuts and abrasions plaguing him, and silencing his hunger and thirst. Richard shivered, eyes blinking shut, and he sagged, his strength abandoning him. Aziraphale caught him before he could fall and manifested a bed in the cell. None so large as those that Richard had formerly been accustomed to, but it was soft and comfortable with clean sheets and furs to ward off the cold. Aziraphale laid him down on it, brushing his hair out of his eyes, cleaning it as he did so, while also restoring him to his former, clean-shaven state. He extended the same care to the rest of Richard’s poor, malnourished body, which he restored to health. He sat next to him, stroking his head, continuing to soothe him. It was the least that he could do. His heart broke that he couldn’t do more. Richard’s chest rose with exhausted breaths, but it soon calmed and he opened his eyes, looking up at Azirphale in awe, yet not as much trepidation as before. Aziraphale smiled.

“It’s alright,” he said. “I won’t hurt you. Nor have you done anything that I need to forgive you for. I never commanded you to do anything. My counsel was merely that. Advice. I do wish that you had heeded it, but I am not angry at you for it.”

“Is that why I have been cast out of my inheritance?” Richard asked, gaze pleading. “If I had listened to you, I would still be king, would I not?”

Aziraphale hesitated. It would do Richard no good to withhold the truth now.

“Truthfully, I don’t know. But I think so, yes.”

Richard released a long, despairing whine of crushing pain as he covered his face with his hands and curled up into a fetal ball. Blast it. What words of comfort could Aziraphale speak now that could possibly help him?

“I’m sorry,” he said, continuing to stroke his head. “So sorry. I never suspected that this would come to pass. It grieves me sorely to see the state you have been reduced to.”

“So Heaven has withdrawn its grace from me?” Richard moaned through his hands.

Aziraphale squeezed his shoulder.

“I’m afraid so. I tried to convince them not to, but I’m afraid that I failed. I’m sorry.”

“You tried to…”

Richard lowered his hands and gazed at Aziraphale in confusion and wonder. He pushed himself up and sat up on folded legs, gripping the sheets, peering at Aziraphale with eyes that begged for understanding in a world that had pulled out the rug from under his feet. 

“You really advocated for me before God?” he finished, his voice an astonished whisper. 

“Well, not God exactly. Of course, the Almighty oversees and approves all things. But it’s a tad more complicated than that. There are different ranks, see, among angels. But of course you know that, although every religious sect gets it a bit wrong. But I can see that I’m confusing you. Heaven is governed, let’s say, for simplicity’s sake, by a government not unlike yours, except that the monarch--in this case, God--is more removed from everyday affairs and we, the angels, are the ones who directly manage things on Earth. But of course, God does as she pleases and chimes in whenever without your need to go through Parliament. Well, not your need anymore. Sorry. So, while God did approve your removal as king--so sorry--it was my superiors within the angelic body that I advocated to and who made sure that it was carried out. I was ordered to step down and do nothing further, so I had no part in how you were so unfairly denied your post. Although you really did commit such grievous mistakes, but I am not here to recriminate you, so I will say no more about it. I know that you are repenting your mistakes and that is all well and good. I assure you, while you may have lost your place here, your contrition assures you a place in heaven when, well, when the time comes.”

Richard gaped at him, even more bewildered than before. 

“Oh, dear,” Aziraphale said, wincing. “I carried on for too long, didn’t I? I’ve overwhelmed you. Did you understand any of what I told you?”

Richard’s lips worked soundlessly for a moment.

“So,” he said slowly, “I am not condemned to hell?”

“No.” Aziraphale squeezed his shoulder again. “Provided you don’t, you know, kill someone in the meantime or anything.”

Relief crossed Richard’s face, but he remained confused. 

“You called God ‘she’,” he said. “Why?”

Ah. That. Aziraphale tried to avoid using that pronoun around humans, but it had slipped out since he had been explaining divine matters.

“Right. Well, God doesn’t have a sex, obviously. Or gender. That’s a human thing. But in the course of language, pronouns make things easier and some of us prefer some over others. God is referred to as ‘she’ by us but is fine being called ‘he’ by you. I’m afraid I can’t tell you why, though. She hasn’t explained it to us.”

Richard sank back again the wall and looked blearily at the ceiling, looking even more exhausted now.

“I’m utterly bewildered,” he said. “The world is turned upside down. I know not how to make sense of it anymore.”

Aziraphale touched his right foot like he had done many times before. Richard looked at his hand, frowning, before turning back to Aziraphale, chest seizing again.

“What does it mean when you touch me? Have we truly got things so wrong? Is it not a sin to lust, especially after such a holy being?”

“Oh, no. You have nothing to worry about. I was a willing participant, as you’ll recall. I had a lovely time. Nor is your desire for men cause for damnation. Not at all. That is one of my least favorite human fabrications. I thought demons must have come up with the notion, but…” Aziraphale shook off his irritation and smiled at Richard, who looked at him in wonder. “You’re alright, my dear.”

He took Richard’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. Richard looked down at it like he didn’t know what to do, then he squeezed back, a fragile smile jerking on his face. He huffed a laugh, then another, the hysterical sound of it concerning Aziraphale, but he lifted Aziraphale’s hand to mouth and pressed firm kisses upon it, giggling all the while.

“It strains belief,” he said, shaking his head, hair falling across his face. “An angel. I have lied with an angel. Conversed with one. Called one to comfort me in my cell, my new little world. I called you and you came.”

Aziraphale scooched closer and cradled Richard’s face with his free hand, rubbing his cheek with his thumb.

“I couldn’t not come. I wish I had done so sooner.”

Richard raised his head and fixed him with a fiercely desperate gaze that made Aziraphale brace himself. 

“Have you come to take me away? Release me from my prison? I could go anywhere. Be content with whatever lot you see fit to bestow upon me.”

How Aziraphale had dreaded this moment. Throat clenching, he shook his head, hating himself as Richard’s face broke.

“I’m not allowed to help you. I’m not even supposed to be here. I would get in a lot of trouble if I’m found out. I can hide this, but not helping you escape. I’m so sorry. They would know and they’d… Well., they would…”

He couldn’t say it.

“Kill me?” Richard asked, his voice tiny and broken. 

Aziraphale dropped his head, shutting his eyes in remorse. He nodded, expecting Richard to break down again, to cry and rail against his sorry lot. But he did none of that. Instead, he lowered Aziraphale’s hand to his lap and stroked it, as if distracting himself with the feel of Aziraphale’s flesh and bone. 

“I’m to be murdered aren’t I?” he asked. “They all are. All deposed kings must die so that their usurpers may live. My great-grandfather was murdered by his own wife. How is my wife? My queen? I shall make her a widow soon. Probably for the best.”

No, it was not for the best. Not at all. 

“She mourns your state, but she’s sound of body and mind. She’s comfortable in her new dwellings.”

“And my cousin Aumerle? Though he would not be Aumerle anymore.”

“He is in the same condition as your former queen. He would visit you if he could.”

A wan smile cut across Richard’s face like a gash.

“Best not,” he said. “I’m not fit for company, not even yours. Especially not yours.”

Richard touched Aziraphale’s face, cupping his cheeks, and gazed at him as if he were still unsure whether Aziraphale was truly there or merely a figment of his overwrought imagination. 

“How lucky am I that I have you to comfort me,” he said. “Thank you. I didn’t appreciate you enough before. My most heartfelt, humble apologies. I was a fool.”

Aziraphale opened his mouth to object.

“No,” Richard interjected before Aziraphale could do so. “Do not say that I need not apologize, for I must. You yourself said that I could have avoided my current state if only I had listened to you, and I know it to be true.”

Aziraphale’s wings flapped vehemently in frustration. It was true, but it wouldn’t make Richard feel any better if he said so.

“There is still no need for you to carry on so,” Aziraphale said. “Please. I forgive you. I had already forgiven you.”

Expelling a gasp of relief, Richard dropped his head forward, his hair falling over his face. Aziraphale reached for him, seeking to hug him close, but Richard looked up at Aziraphale’s left wing as it rose up to cover him, transfixed by it. Aziraphale ceased moving, wings stretched halfway toward him. Richard’s mouth dropped open in fascination as he peered at his feathers. They didn’t look their best in this gloom, but one wouldn’t think so from the wonder in Richard’s face.

“You may touch them,” Aziraphale said with a smile.

Richard turned amazed eyes toward him. 

“I may? Truly? It’s not too bold or impertinent?”

“Not at all. I’m giving you permission. Go on.”

Aziraphale pressed his wings to Richard’s shoulders, who gasped in surprise, then smiled in delight as he raised a carefully probing hand to Aziraphale’s secondary coverts and gently, so very gently, touched them. The merest graze of his fingertips made Aziraphale suck in a breath in turn, but he shut his lips before Richard could notice how his limbs were suddenly trembling. Angels allowed their wings to be touched only by very few. In all his time on Earth, there had only been one being who had done so, the one that Richard resembled so strongly that it made Aziraphale’s heartache. Upon as close an inspection as this, they were obviously not the same person. Their eyes alone marked enough of a difference. Yet Richard’s fingers glided over Aziraphale’s feathers as reverentially as Crowley’s had done when he had first agreed to groom Aziraphale’s wings. It was the most physically intimate that they were with each other. Crowley had never dared ask for it and Aziraphale had hesitated for centuries until he finally stopped himself before going up to heaven to ask for aid in tending to them and begged this service from the person from whom he most wished it. Crowley had taken his own time in thinking it over, hemming and hawing before showing up at Aziraphale’s house one night and standing by the doorway, not speaking a word, nervousness tensing every limb before he sucked in a deep breath and spread out his wings.

“Let’s get to it, then,” he muttered without looking at Aziraphale.

Just as anxious, it had taken supreme power of will for Aziraphale to keep his limbs from shaking as he walked around Crowley and raised his hands to his wings. They were a mess of ruffled feathers, all as inky black as a raven’s, shot through with an iridescent shimmer of green only visible up close. Crowley flexed his wings as instructed to give Aziraphale the access he needed, far more disciplined than when it was Aziraphale’s turn to be groomed. Aziraphale’s wings trembled as he stretched them out, fluttering as Crowley’s fingers skimmed over the flesh of his upper wings, his touch tickling and exciting him in equal measure. He had braced himself for Crowley to comment, but he didn’t. His only remark was about what a sorry state his flight feathers were in. 

When they were done, they settled down for a drink and spoke no more about it until a few months later when they needed each others’ attention again. Gradually, their trepidation over the matter loosened and they began to comment on the state of their wings as casually as they did over each other’s clothes. Their grooming sessions grew more relaxed, but no less careful or affectionate. Crowley wouldn’t have regarded his wings the way that Richard did now. They weren’t a novel wonder to him. Yet Aziraphale liked to imagine that he felt the same reverential admiration that he spied in Richard’s eyes, for so Aziraphale considered Crowley’s form, wings and all. 

Aziraphale let Richard touch his fill, then encircled him in his arms and wings, tucking him to his chest. Richard acquiesced willingly, sinking his face into Aziraphale’s neck, silent, breath coming in deep, quick breaths as he clutched Aziraphale, his hold so tight and desperate that a human would have had trouble breathing. 

“Will you stay with me until the end?” he asked, so small and vulnerable.

Aziraphale kissed the top of his head.

“I can’t. I wish I could.”

“Can you tell me how long I have, at least?”

Aziraphale shut his eyes against the sting of tears.

“I’m not sure if I should.”

“You need not give me an exact date. I can hardly keep track of them here. Just a notion. Please.”

Aziraphale struggled to clear his throat.

“Weeks.”

Richard shuddered. Moisture wet Aziraphale’s neck.


	2. Chapter 2

Aziraphale tapped his fingers against his thigh as he paced around his study. He had remained with Richard until dawn, when he had been obligated to remove his bed, but he left a small cot with plenty of blankets on the floor that would always be warm and soft, and which no other mortal would be able to see or touch. He also left him some books to entertain him, taken from Richard’s own library. Henry Bolingbroke didn’t deserve to keep Richard’s most treasured tomes. Richard had always enjoyed reading. Apart from some food and drink, they were the only comforts that Aziraphale could give him. But this wasn’t right. Aziraphale couldn’t just sit by and do nothing. Henry Bolingbroke’s reign was secure. Richard was ousted in disgrace. Surely that should be enough. Why must he die, too? In Aziraphale’s desperation, an idea had come to him, one that he should not be contemplating, but it would not leave him be. It distressed him to the core of his angelic soul to disobey a heavenly injunction, but then so had entering into an arrangement with a demon, who was now the only being who could help him. He had asked Crowley to come over tonight to beg his aid. He was late, prolonging Aziraphale’s turmoil to unbearable levels. Demons were known for their tardiness, but Crowley was usually more attentive with him. 

A knock on the door made Aziraphale start. He rushed to it and pulled it open to reveal Crowley himself looking like he had run for a mile. Aziraphale indulged in the rush of joy that always accompanied seeing Crowley. It never failed to lift his mood, even in such distressing times as these. 

“Sorry for being late,” Crowley said, taking off his sunglasses as he walked inside. “There was a mess of overturned carts and horses on the bridge. I practically had to miracle my way through. So what’s going on?”

Crowley tilted his head down as he examined Aziraphale’s face, a frown wrinkling his brow.

“That doesn’t look good,” Crowley said, his irritation at the traffic problems evaporating into a somber expression. “Is it Richard? Has it happened already?”

Crowley was well aware of Aziraphale’s relationship with Richard. Aziraphale had never held anything back from him other than the precise details, and Crowley had been most conscientious and supportive when Aziraphale had sought out his comfort upon being informed of how horribly Richard was being dealt with. Aziraphale clasped his hands before him, head lowering as he gulped, the corner of his lips clenching. This would not be easy, or even advisable. He shouldn’t be doing this at all. Crowley would probably say “no”, as he should for his own sake. Oh, what was Aziraphale thinking even asking this of him? But there was no other way. He had to at least try.

“Richard still lives,” Aziraphale said, his voice small. “He has a few more weeks still. I…” Aziraphale wrung his hands. “I went to visit him. He’s in an appalling state. Frightened. In pain. He has repented, so he will go to heaven at least. That’s the only comfort I could give him.”

“Wait.” Crowley stepped forward, surprise narrowing his eyes. “You told him you’re an angel?”

Aziraphale nodded. 

“How else was I supposed to console him?”

“Aziraphale. You can’t just show humans willy nilly.”

“There was nothing willy nilly about it. What harm could it possibly do for Richard to know now? Is he likely to be believed should he tell anyone? Which he won’t, in any case. I made him a nice, little cot for him to sleep, invisible from everyone else, and healed his injuries. I gave him as much of a sense of calm as I could. I couldn’t just stand by and do nothing.”

“No, not you.” A fond smile illuminated Crowley’s face. “I know you’d spring him from his prison if you could.”

Aziraphale hesitated. 

“I would. But I cannot. However, there is the possibility that someone else… I merely speak theoretically, unless that someone else decides that they are willing to do this. Which they are under no obligation to do. I would think nothing less of them. It would probably be smarter not to.”

Crowley’s frown intensified, alarm crossing his face.

“Are you asking me to break him out?”

“Only if you are willing.”

Crowley groaned, stepping back, but Aziraphale pressed forward, pleading.

“You would be thwarting heaven’s will if you did, so I don’t see how you should be able to get in trouble. That should actually make it easier. Heaven wants Henry Bolingbroke’s reign to be secure, and smuggling away his rival for the throne will prevent that in their eyes. Although, of course, it won’t. Richard will do nothing to get his throne back. Heaven’s goal will be maintained. I will make sure that he promises me that, and his regard for me will prevent him from breaking that promise.”

“His regard for you? He treated you like shit before. He’s just scared of you now because you’re an angel.”

Aziraphale’s face pinched. The reminder of Richard’s callous disregard for him stung. 

“I’m sorry,” Crowley said, looking as guilty as could be. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

Aziraphale shook his head. 

“It’s alright. You’re right. He was not kind to me in the end, but he has apologized. He did so before even knowing that I could hear him, so there’s no doubt that it’s genuine. And he is not just scared of me. I sorted all that out before I left.”

“Alright. I’m glad that he faced up to what an arse he was. But breaking him out. It’s… Give me a second to consider the ramifications here, will you?”

Aziraphale’s breath caught in his throat as Crowley turned away, hands on his hips, more pensive than irritated. Crowley was considering it. So he might do it? Richard might be safe? 

“I repeat,” Aziraphale said, voice trembling a little, “that I am not requesting you to do this. I will not be cross if you say no. I will understand completely.”

Crowley pierced him with a weary expression. 

“No, you’ll be disappointed, which is worse.”

Aziraphale's mouth worked soundlessly for a moment, taken aback by Crowley’s sentiment.

“I wouldn’t.”

“You would. There’s no need for you to keep trying to talk me into it. I’m in.”

Aziraphale fought the urge to bounce on the balls of his feet.

“You will?” he asked, his voice rising with joy.

Crowley nodded. Aziraphale grinned, clasping Crowley’s right hand in both of his without even thinking.

“Oh, thank you. Truly, thank you. You have no idea how happy this makes me.”

Crowley looked down at their clasped hands, something entirely different from their conversation crossing his face. Aziraphale blushed, heat rising in the back of his neck. He wanted to do more, to hold Crowley as closely as he’d held Richard, but that wouldn’t be wise. By shallow increments, he’d allowed himself to come this far into the demon’s affection, but if he took that final step, if he admitted that much to the world, as to himself, what would become of him? 

Slowly, careful that Crowley didn’t feel any sting of rejection, Aziraphale removed his hand. Crowley took a step back, but only one, taking a moment to collect himself before he looked up at Aziraphale, who strove not to burn with guilt at the mirror to his affection that he saw there. 

“I have some idea,” Crowley said. “It’s all over your face.” Crowley sighed, then the right side of his lips jerked up in a smile. “I’ve never stolen a king before. This should be fun.”

`````````````````

Aziraphale found Richard sitting on his cot reading a treatise on philosophy. He appeared outside his cell this time to avoid startling him. As soon as Richard looked up and saw him, his face lit up in delight and he rushed up to his feet and towards Aziraphale as he stepped through the bars. Like last time, he made this part of the castle thoroughly uninteresting for any other humans in the vicinity. Smiling, he put his food basket on the floor and greeted Richard with a snug hug, grateful that Richard had gotten over his shyness around him.

“Aziraphale,” Richard cried, sinking his head into Aziraphale’s shoulder, his body vibrating with joyful surprise. “I am so glad to see you again.” 

“I did say I would come.”

Richard leaned back to look him in the eye. 

“I did not doubt you,” he said quickly, as if Aziraphale might recriminate him. 

Aziraphale cradled his face and stroked his cheek. 

“I know. I have good news. A friend of mine has agreed to help you escape and smuggle you out of the country.”

Richard’s eyes widened, a look of joy suffusing his face as he gasped, yet it was soon clouded by a confused and fearful wrinkle in his brow.

“Will it not risk your safety to help me so?” he asked. “Your standing in heaven?”

Aziraphale warmed at Richard’s concern. 

“I’ll be perfectly alright. I won’t be involved directly. My friend will take of everything and make sure no one finds out. We will both be safe, I assure you. Nor will your standing in the afterlife be altered in the least. No angel or demon can prevent your entry into heaven as long as you remain true of heart, do you understand?”

Richard nodded. He was trembling, clutching at Aziraphale’s shoulders, his eyes lighting up with hope again.

“I can’t believe it,” he said, tears vibrating his voice, but happy tears at long last. “How can I ever thank you?”

“By living a long, good life. That’s all the thanks I need.”

Aziraphale cupped his face with both hands now, brushing a stray strand of hair from his eyes, and tugged Richard’s head down to kiss his forehead. Richard’s breath trembled. He gripped Aziraphale’s wrists, holding him there. Tears slipped from his eyes. Aziraphale brushed them away, enveloping Richard in warmth and love. Richard tilted his head to the side and kissed Aziraphale’s left wrist, his soft lips lingering, breath hot and shallow. Aziraphale’s eyelids dipped at the pleasure produced by his touch, but he couldn’t give in yet. There was one more piece of news that he must deliver first, a somber counterpart to the first, which Richard’s actions made even more painful.

“I’m afraid,” he said, gently titling Richard’s head up to face him. “That there’s an unfortunate consequence to our scheme. We may never see each other again while you live. It would be too risky. Heaven will search for you. I could lead them straight to you.”

Richard’s face pinched with sorrow.

“This is our last time?”

Aziraphale nodded, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth.

“But I will visit you again in heaven. That’s easily done. We’ll just have to be patient.”

“But what if I don’t get there?” Richard’s face crumbled, his whole form seeming to shrink. “What if I am damned, after all?”

Aziraphale grasped his head, focusing his eyes on his.

“Richard, listen to me. You are not damned. If, God forbid, the angel of death were to take you now, your soul would fly up to heaven. I am an angel. I know these things. All you have to do to stay safe is maintain your current, spiritual course. That is all. I have faith in you, Richard.”

A sob erupted from Richard’s throat. He covered his mouth, staring at Aziraphale with incredulous amazement, but he nodded.

“If an angel says so, it must be so,” he murmured, amazed by his own words before turning to Aziraphale with renewed intensity. “I will not fail you again.” Grabbing Aziraphale’s right hand, he dropped to his knees and bowed his head. “This I swear.”

Aziraphale shifted on his feet, embarrassed and touched by Richard’s display. It never got any easier to see Richard bowing like this. He thought that he’d dissuaded Richard from feeling like he had to show submission to him. 

“Please get up,” Aziraphale said, sinking into a half crouch to tilt his head up toward him. “I told you you don’t need to do this.”

“I wish to,” Richard said, meeting his eyes. “Even were I still a king, my actions would be the same. I am beholden to you. I can think of no more proper way to make my oath to you. But since it discomforts you, I will stop and not do it again.”

Richard stood up and let go of Aziraphale’s hand, standing at a slight distance, head lowered, but his eyes rose to the same level as Aziraphale’s. At least he wasn’t skirting Aziraphale’s gaze. That was something. Well, then. This all still felt terribly awkward and uncomfortable. Richard had had a certain imperious ego as king, and the overbearing manner to match. Now he was being so submissive, like he had been before Henry IV while being coerced to surrender his throne. The similarity put a sour taste in Aziraphale’s tongue. 

“I appreciate that,” Aziraphale replied. “I understand your sentiments and don’t fault you, but I really wish you wouldn’t kneel to me. Could we go back to the easy manner we used to have before you knew that I’m an angel?”

“Was it truly so easy? I took you for my subject and treated you as such.”

Richard lowered his eyes in shame.

“I tricked you into thinking that, so stop feeling guilty, please. I have no complaints. Well, other than your stubbornness, but let’s not go over that again. We have only a few, precious hours left until, hopefully, decades go by before we see each other again. Let’s not waste them arguing.”

Richard lit up.

“You will stay with me until I’m to leave?” 

Aziraphale smiled, taking Richard’s hands.

“Of course. What would you like to do? I brought food. Are you hungry?”

Richard eyed the basket behind Aziraphale with interest, but he shook his head.

“Later,” he said. “I would rather, if you’re agreeable to it, do something else first. You said that it’s no sin to lie with an angel, and that you enjoyed our time together.”

Aziraphale’s mouth went dry with surprise and interest.

“It’s not, and I did. I would like to do so again. With the same stipulations as before, however.”

“We can do as much or as little as you wish,” Richard said quickly, a bounce in his step as he removed the crucifix hanging around his neck and hurried to place it atop his books on the floor. Turning toward Aziraphale, he flashed him an eager, hopeful smile as he pulled off his shift, revealing his bare skin underneath. Aziraphale’s heart ached in both admiration of Richard’s beauty and the knowledge that Richard had looked wildly different before Aziraphale healed him yesterday. Richard had always been slender, his bones long and seemingly delicate, yet stronger than they looked, but they had protruded painfully over his thinning skin in the agony of malnourishment. Now he looked whole again. Healthy. Every inch the king that Aziraphale had found himself so affected by, save for the look in his eyes. Richard’s expression had always been a little distant, understanding his own lofty position in the world and eagerly reaping the benefits from it. Aziraphale had been a favorite, a friend, but ultimately dispensable as it had proved. Now Richard gazed at him like Aziraphale was the world made anew. Love shone in his eyes. True love, not idle attachment. Aziraphale warmed upon receiving it and followed his urge to go to him, but stopped just short of kissing Richard when he remembered that he was still clothed himself.

“I should take my clothes off,” he said, stating the obvious, but oh well.

He raised a hand to miracle them off, but stopped himself, suddenly remembering that he hadn’t prepared his lower body for this. 

“Was is it?” Richard asked, frowning at Aziraphale’s pause. “Do you not wish it?”

“Oh, no,” Aziraphale hurried to reassure him, “I very much wish it. I just need a moment. Unless.”

Would Richard be alright seeing his body the way it naturally was? It was no trouble growing the proper body parts to blend in with humans when required, although he never wished to do anything with them. But he was no longer disguising his true nature. Those parts had only ever gotten in the way, in any case.

“Do you mind if, well,” Aziraphale said, gripping his fingers uncertainly. “While angelic bodies are mostly shaped like human bodies, there is one detail where they differ. We can make the effort and make ourselves seem entirely human, but I haven’t made that effort right now, so if I remove my garments right this moment, you’d be a bit shocked.”

“How exactly do you not look entirely human?”

Richard looked him over, trying to divine the cause.

“Well, um…” 

Aziraphale’s cheeks burned as he looked to the side and pointed between his legs. Richard’s eyes widened.

“Oh,” he uttered. “So when I saw you naked… That part of you was an illusion?”

“No, they were real. I just don’t particularly like having them, so I get rid of them as soon as they stop being necessary.”

“So that’s why you haven’t wanted to… engage in those activities?”

Richard was being unusually coy about referring to sex, probably because of Aziraphale’s angelic state, but in this case, that proved to be an advantage. This was far too awkward as it was. He nodded.

“I can, um, put them on, as it were, if the sight of me without them is too disturbing for you.”

“Oh, no, please don’t make yourself uncomfortable on my account. I was shocked enough by seeing you with wings, glorious sight though it was. I don’t want to besmirch our last…” Richard’s voice failed him. He smiled sadly. “Our last day with petty demands. I do not mind, in any case. You have gifted me with the truth of who you really are, and I want all of it.”

Aziraphale summoned a smile, nervous though it was. 

“Alright,” he said, voice shaking with uncertainty. “Here goes.”

With a quick gesture, he miracled his clothes into a folded bundle atop the food basket and struggled to keep from covering himself up as Richard regarded him. Yet he didn’t look alarmed, just curious. That was good.

“I’ve also put on some weight,” Aziraphale said, resisting the urge to hide his protruding belly. 

He had never been thin, not even before he had discovered the wondrous flavors of food, but he had gained quite the tummy since then. Richard had seen it and he hadn’t turned up his nose in displeasure. Of course, Aziraphale wasn’t going to mention that the reason for his recent weight gain was due to overeating as a distraction from Richard’s trials, not while Richard had been suffering from being underfed at the same time. 

“You have never been slender to my recollection,” Richard said. “Why do you look so nervous over that?”

He sounded genuinely perplexed. Well, that was something. 

“I suppose,” Aziraphale said. “I may at times feel a little lesser as far as looks are concerned. Certainly in comparison to you, who are so handsome and shapely. No one would look twice at me if they found us standing together.”

“You cannot seriously think this.”

Richard stepped forward and placed his hands on Aziraphale’s face, peering at him with an expression that came so close to his former, royal displeasure that one would think that no time had gone by at all. 

“You are beautiful,” Richard said as if Aziraphale thinking otherwise was madness. “Do you not know this?”

Aziraphale shifted his feet, momentarily overwhelmed, but he grinned at the sentiment.

“Well, I don’t think I’m homely. I’m not lacking in self-vanity, I assure you.”

_Very handsome,_ Crowley had said with a teasing smile back in Rome when Aziraphale had asked him if he looked the part to play a foreign dignitary in his brand, new toga. Aziraphale had flushed and thanked him, but neither of them had acknowledged the comment any further, even though Aziraphale thought Crowley just as attractive.

“But I realize,” Aziraphale continued speaking to Richard. Richard was the one here, not Crowley. “That I am not the most fit, or fit at all, and my face is more wrinkled than that of any of your other bedmates. I have wondered why you would bother doing this with me when the others were so willing.”

“The others were not you. You have always been radiant. I don’t know how you can think otherwise.” The most tender smile adorned Richard’s face. “Oh, sweet angel. I would fall to my knees in reverence if you hadn’t forbidden it.”

Pleasure colored Aziraphale’s cheeks as he smiled, tickled pink. 

“There’s no need to flatter me,” Aziraphale said. “Although, if you wish to, well, revere me, as you put it, there are other ways of going about it.”

With a click of his fingers, a four-poster bed appeared in the center of the cell. Richard jumped, startled, and gazed at the bed in awe and delight. Taking his hand, Aziraphale led him to the bed and sat on it, lying back so that Richard could climb atop him. In times past, Richard had delighted in kissing down Aziraphale’s body, which he did now, beginning by nuzzling Aziraphale’s hair, then kissing his face, his neck, and along his chest in little, feather-light brushes of lips and nose that quickened Aziraphale’s breath. He didn’t need to breathe, and yet his body reacted as if it did. Richard’s hands traced along the passage of his mouth, stroking Aziraphale with gentle pressure, studying the scope of his body with the reverence that he desired. Aziraphale’s flesh tingled, flushed and raw with sensation. Their intimate encounters had always been lush, but Richard infused his touch with even more care now. The way that he picked up Aziraphale’s hand from his shoulder and kissed his palm recalled the devotion with which he had held his hand while kneeling on the ground just a little while ago, but this didn’t feel like simple submission. 

Was this what it was like to be worshipped? Certain sensuous passages in the Song of Solomon came to mind, about adoration and offering one’s body to the subject of one’s adoration. Aziraphale’s fingers curled on Richard’s cheek as he brushed his hair with his other hand. Richard wasn’t being sacrilegious, was he? Looking to him instead of to God? Aziraphale’s superiors wouldn’t take kindly to that. But Richard still revered God. Aziraphale didn’t doubt that. This was only the expression of his love, which filled the room with the radiance of it, making Aziraphale’s eyelids droop with ecstatic dizziness even more than his touch. Aziraphale’s wings fluttered, stretching out across the bed as Aziraphale’s back curved with pleasure and ease. 

Richard raised his head. Aziraphale forced his eyes to open. How pretty Richard looked admiring his wings. Just when Aziraphale thought that he was out of blushes, there came another. He reached forward with his wings and touched Richard’s shoulders, encircling his back. Richard sucked in a breath as they touched him and reached up to trace a secondary flight feather. 

“They’re so soft,” he murmured.

“Thank you.”

Sitting up, Aziraphale kissed Richard’s cheek and wrapped his arms around his back, stroking up his spine before coaxing Richard to stretch out his legs. Placing them in his lap, Aziraphale began massaging his left foot, taking his time in kneading his sole and rubbing along his arch to his toes. He leaned down and kissed him just below the ankle. Richard sucked in a surprised breath.

“An angel kisses my foot,” he murmured, amazed.

Smiling, Aziraphale rubbed the side of Richard’s neck. 

“I mean you the greatest affection, my dear,” he said. “I like your feet, as you know. So shapely and lovely. All of you is.”

It was Richard’s turn to blush, a strand of hair falling across his face as he looked down. Aziraphale had never seen him blush before. He looked charming. Richard scooched closer, bending his knees so that Aziraphale could continue massaging him, and rubbed up and down Aziraphale’s chest with the tips of his fingers. Aziraphale dropped a kiss on his right foot. Richard responded by kissing Aziraphale’s shoulder and slipping his arms around Aziraphale’s back. Aziraphale tightened his wings around him, holding him more snuggly, kneading up Richard’s calves. He kissed Richard’s neck, sinking his face along his collarbone, indulging in his scent while he still could, struggling not to collapse under the sorrow of this being their last time. They remained like this for a long while, exchanging gentle kisses, Richard sitting in Aziraphale’s lap like he never wished to be anywhere else.

After a time, Richard reached up and touched Aziraphale’s left wing bone, silently asking to be let go. Aziraphale complied and Richard sank back on the bed, dropping his arms beside him, hands lying palm up beside his head. His hair, beautiful curls, rested spread beside him, a strand rising and falling slowly on his chest as he breathed. Aziraphale regarded him, speechless and shaken by the emotion swelling inside him at the sight of his beauty. Of his love. The air was thick with it, intoxicating. Richard smiled, a teasing thing. Aziraphale stretched his wings, delighting as Richard’s face grew more radiant with awe and adoration.

“You are a vision, my dear,” Aziraphale said, taking Richard’s left hand in his, allowing their fingers to curl together. 

Richard’s smile widened, eyes shining with more than joy.

“Being beloved by an angel,” he said, voice thick with emotion, “I’m greater than I ever was as king.”

```````````````````

Much too quickly, night came, and with it their need to say good-bye. Aziraphale vanished the bed and the cot, but insisted that Richard keep his books for the days ahead. Richard vowed to treasure them always. As a final gift, Aziraphale miracled him a set of suitable clothes that a merchant would wear. Good fabrics, well maintained, but not too luxurious, nothing that might be borne by a nobleman. Crowley and Aziraphale had already discussed the plan. He and Richard would pretend to be sibling merchants on their way to France. Aziraphale really should stay until Crowley came to introduce them properly, but this was a rather delicate situation. Crowley knew the nature of Aziraphale’s relationship with Richard. He didn’t begrudge him for it, but that didn’t mean that it didn’t hurt. It must do so, even though he was glad to see Aziraphale enjoy himself. They had both had mortal dalliances over the years, and neither had been jealous or possessive. Yet there was a greater pull between them that they wouldn’t, couldn’t, obey, not to their complete satisfaction. An unspoken line in the sand yawed between them. If Aziraphale stepped over it, if he allowed himself to commit to Crowley completely, he’d never be able to pull himself away. What kind of angel would he be then, if he was even an angel at all? 

“You look splendid, my dear,” Aziraphale told Richard, pushing aside his existential preoccupations for the current ones. This was his last moment with Richard while he lived. It would be disrespectful not to give Richard his full attention.

Richard looked down at his blue doublet and hose, touching the cloth with a bittersweet gaze.

“Much better than having only a linen shift to my name,” he said. “Thank you. Truly. You must be tired of hearing me say it.”

“Not at all, but there is still no need to thank me. I want you to be safe and happy.” His throat clenching, Aziraphale cradled Richard’s face, looking intently in his eyes. “Please do try to be happy.”

Richard nodded, raising his hands to Aziraphale’s own face, blinking rapidly against tears. 

“It is a heavy charge you place upon me, but I will try.”

Words failed them. Bracing himself against their final good-bye, Aziraphale leaned forward and laid one, chaste kiss on Richard’s mouth, a simple press of lips. Richard trembled under him. Pulling back, Aziraphale tugged him down and kissed his forehead, blessing him for the last time. He had also blessed Richard’s clothes and his books. He had no reason to fear, yet worry gnawed in his belly nonetheless. 

“My friend will be here shortly,” he said, voice thickening. “He will take care of you, I promise. There is no being, other than God, of course, who I trust more.”

Richard had asked if Aziraphale’s friend was an angel, which he had partly avoided by saying “something of the sort”. Guilt gnawed at him for lying to Richard like this, but it would be better if he wasn’t aware that he was being aided by a demon, even if it was at an angel’s request. Plausible deniability. Aziraphale would not put Richard’s soul in jeopardy by revealing all the particulars, even though he couldn’t see why said knowledge would do so, but better safe than sorry.

“I’ll trust him, then,” Richard said. “Just like I trust you.”

Richard pulled him into a hug, which Aziraphale leaned into with all the eager fervor that he could muster. Oh, how he wished that he didn’t have to pull away so soon. But the longer they lingered, the greater was their risk of discovery in case heaven decided to accelerate the timetable. Richard’s death was slatted to happen at night, and they might decide that this night would do. Throat aching, Aziraphale pulled away, greeting Richard’s sorrowful glance with a smile.

“I’ll see you in a few decades,” Aziraphale said. “Stay true to your path. All my blessings go with you.”

Richard graced him with a broken smile.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice failing.

Aziraphale stepped back and, with a small wave, popped away. 

He materialized in his parlor. Tears pricked his eyes. He pressed his hands to his face, indulging in a moment of painful emotion before wiping his tears away and straightening his spine. Crowley was waiting in his study, probably pacing a hole in his floor. They needed to get a move on.

“He’s dressed and ready,” Aziraphale announced as he pushed the door open to find Crowley pacing exactly how he’d pictured. The familiar comfort of Crowley’s presence eased his pain a little, but not enough. Crowley turned to him, concern wrinkling his brow as he hurried to him, laying a hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder. Aziraphale smiled at the gesture and the comfort that Crowley radiated through his being, a bit of angelic ability that Aziraphale had been overjoyed to discover.

“How are you?” Crowley asked.

What he was truly asking was whether Aziraphale was well enough to be left alone. 

“I’ll be alright,” Aziraphale said, meeting Crowley’s eyes through his dark glasses. “Richard needs you more right now. Again, thank you so much for doing this. It means more to me than I can express.”

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t get all soppy on me.”

Crowley pulled his hand away to rub the back of his neck, but the irritation in his words was artificial. He appreciated Aziraphale’s gratitude just as much as Aziraphale needed to express it. 

“I’m off, then,” Crowley said. “See you in a few weeks.”

Stepping back, Crowley transported himself away. Aziraphale stared at the empty spot where he had been, eyes stinging with tears he finally allowed himself to shed.


	3. Chapter 3

Crowley materialized outside of Richard’s cell. He would rather have gone straight into the cell itself, but Aziraphale had asked him not to scare Richard, so here he was walking up a few meters of chilly, narrow corridor that smelled like several rats had died in it. They probably had, too. Rescuing a human from heaven’s slaughter went far beyond the Arrangement. It would take years of flying in and out of England and France (where he had decided to stash the ex-king) to make sure that he didn’t die from some disease within a couple of years, and to lead any heavenly assassins off his trail while planting false leads about Richard’s location to satisfy their cover story. Hell probably would be okay with it. It was a middle finger to heaven’s plans, even if a weak one that would ultimately come to nothing. But it was going to be so much work. Work that involved him playing nice with the man who looked like him who Azirphale would rather be in bed with. A sigh rose and withered in Crowley’s throat. 

Not that he would have ever told Aziraphale “no”. Of course not. He had just been pretending to consider the outrageousness of Aziraphale’s plea while silently cursing heaven’s bloodthirsty pettiness. Aziraphale had been a wreck over this for months. He had burst into tears in Crowley’s arms once, unable to hold them back any longer. Seeing him weeping with such dejected pain had filled Crowley with fury. Satan, how he yearned to storm back into heaven and punch Gabriel in his smug mouth. 

Richard loitered nervously in the middle of his cell, clinging to the strap of a satchel that hung from his left shoulder. Crowley rapped on the cell bars with his fingers, giving him a start. Well, it wasn’t the same as scaring him. How else was he supposed to announce his presence? Richard turned to him, gripping his strap even more tightly as his eyes widened upon seeing Crowley, who stepped through the bars. Bewildered eyes peered at Crowley’s face and down his body, taking in their “uncanny resemblance”, as Aziraphale had once put it. The Plantagenet line had been looking more and more like Crowley for a while, but Richard’s mother’s genes had pushed him over the edge into a likeness so close that Crowley had cursed out God and all her angels (except for Aziraphale). God was mocking him. He knew it. Not only did some human king look like him, but he was so incompetent that he all but gave away his throne, _and_ Aziraphale had fallen in love with him. And not only fallen in love. He went to bed with him. Repeatedly. Engaged in long discussions that wiled away into the night. Dined with him. Watched private entertainments with him. Joined his court of idle flatterers. Cut short his already frustratingly brief time with Crowley. So what if heaven had ordered it? It didn’t hurt any less. 

Crowley inspected the nervous, former king. Aziraphale had dressed him in something decent. His hair was still too long, though. How many merchants went around with their hair halfway down their backs? Aziraphale probably hadn’t been able to bear cutting it since he admired it so much. He had moped plenty when Crowley had cut his own, all sweet pouts and wistful sighs. Satan, it was even curly. There was no way this wasn’t a joke. Why didn’t God just make him a redhead, too, while she was at it? 

“I’m Aziraphale’s friend, in case it wasn’t obvious,” Crowley said, inspecting the cell to make sure that Aziraphale hadn’t left any angelic traces behind. Nothing. Good. 

“How should I address you?” Richard asked, intimidated and deferential. 

In a fit of spite, Crowley considered demanding to be called “my lord”, but Aziraphale wouldn’t like that. 

“Just call me Crowley. All set then?”

Without waiting for a response, Crowley stepped up to him, took Richard in his arms, and flew them through the tiny window overhead. This mode of escape was more of a show for heaven than for the humans, almost none of whom were paying attention to the sky, in any case. The two that were on guard duty on the castle walls would report than an angel shot out of the dungeons carrying something that looked like Richard, and would be thought mad until the empty cell gave credence to their panicked jabbering. But that wouldn’t get Aziraphale in trouble. Crowley had made sure to leave just enough demonic energy in the cell so that the angels who were sent to investigate would know which side was responsible. 

Although, Crowley should have warned Richard that they were flying away before taking off, for Richard was screaming as he peered wide-eyed at the rapidly shrinking ground below. He clung to Crowley, curling into a terrified ball in his grasp. Crowley grit his teeth. So much for his promise to Aziraphale. 

“It’s alright,” he shouted over the wind buffeting them. “I’m not going to drop you. Just relax.”

Richard continued to breathe rapidly, but his grip loosened a little. He looked up at Crowley’s face. Crowley didn’t look back. He could feel Aziraphale’s blessings infused inside Richard, as close to him as his own blood. Multiple ones. He must have blessed Richard every time that he saw him. Had Aziraphale even realized that he was doing so? Only the deepest affection inspired an angel to bless someone without realizing it.

Aziraphale had never blessed Crowley. 

Which was good. Very good. What would hell think if Crowley walked around being blessed by an angel? 

“Crowley?” Richard asked, his voice so low that a human wouldn’t have been able to hear him over the wind. 

“What?”

“I’m cold.”

Shit! How had Crowley not noticed him shivering? He cast an invisible blanket of warmth over Richard, sending some soothing vibes as well. Soon, Richard relaxed and he grew more limp and manageable in Crowley’s arms, still clutching him, but no longer holding on for dear life. 

“We’ll stop soon,” Crowley said. “I’m not flying you all the way to France.”

Richard tucked his head back against Crowley’s chest and stayed silent. He must have laid his head on Aziraphale’s head like this, only much more lovingly and eagerly.

Crowley shoved the distressing image out of his mind. What good would it do him to dwell on Aziraphale’s love life, which didn’t include Crowley in it? None at all. 

A while later, he landed in a woodland outside Cambridge, where he had stashed a couple of horses to continue their journey. Aziraphale better appreciate what Crowley was doing for him. Riding a horse ranked barely above stepping on cow dung in his list of favorite activities. He set down Richard on his feet and went to untie the horses, who were grazing placidly on the grass.

“You take this one,” Crowley said, leading one of the horses toward Richard, who was looking around him, an excited grin on his face.

Right. This was the first time that he’d been outside in weeks, and in the comfort of freedom, not as a miserable prisoner in his treacherous cousin’s grasp. He probably couldn’t see much other than hazy forms in the darkness, but that wouldn’t matter to him. Crowley risked a little light, making sure that it wouldn’t be spotted by anyone outside of their small perimeter. Richard gasped at the sudden illumination, his expression growing more awed and childlike. There were tears in his eyes as he covered his mouth with his hands, breath hitching as he grew overwhelmed.

Oh, no. Was he going to cry? Although tears of joy were easier to handle than tears of sadness, but that still wouldn’t make this any less awkward, and there was enough of that as it was. He’d known that he would have to deal with Richard’s intense emotional turmoil during this voyage and had braced himself for it, but not enough, for his gut churned with discomfort and a niggling feeling of relatability that he shook off immediately. 

“It’s so beautiful,” Richard said, voice soft and wistful as he gazed up at the treetops and the stars sparkling beyond. “I always took the simple pleasure of the woods for granted. I don’t even mind the cold, not out here where I can feel the wind and I’m not trapped in a cell in the earth.”

“Yeah, it’s great.” Crowley tugged up the horse’s head from the ground, where it had started grazing again. “Listen, you’ll have plenty of time to enjoy the woods and whatever you like later. Right now, we should get going. I flew us far enough that we don’t need to worry about your jailors catching up with us, but we’ll only keep it that way if we move fast.”

He handed Richard the reigns, snapping Richard out of his happy daze (only feeling a little guilty about it), and went to get his own horse. After mounting, he found Richard grinning like a fool while rubbing the horse’s head, still standing on the ground instead of sitting on the horse like he was supposed to be. Crowley swallowed a despairing groan. 

“Richard,” Crowley said, his annoyance rising. 

Richard jumped, startled, the smile sliding off his face as he turned to Crowley with nervous fear in his eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” Richard said, hurrying onto the horse with his head bowed. 

Ah shit. Richard was frightened of him now. Crowley just wanted to get going, not for Richard to scrape and bow before him. For fuck’s sake, why did Crowley always make everything worse? 

“Never mind,” Crowley said. He tried to sound less irritated. Truly, he did. “Apology accepted. Just… Let’s go.”

Crowley led him out of the woods and towards the road leading to Cambridge, mentally kicking himself the entire time. He really hadn’t needed to be that short with Richard. And how could he blame him for being happy about finally being out of his depressing cell and breathing fresh air with the animals he adored? His crimes hadn’t even been that bad, relative to all the truly hair-raising, binge-drinking worthy horrors Crowley had seen humans commit. An image of Aziraphale’s furious face hovered in his mind’s eye. If Azirphale heard about this, he would berate Crowley for not letting Richard have a tender moment with his new horse, for yelling at him, for not considering that traveling through clouds was too frigid for humans, for not even warning him that he was flying him out of his cell to begin with. So much for keeping his promises. Had he promised anyone else, fuck it. Crowley was a demon, after all. But he wouldn’t lie to Aziraphale.

_Bless it all._

Crowley peeked at Richard, who rode a couple of paces behind as if showing deference to him. Richard gazed at what little he could see of the woods and fields around them with an odd mix of hope and sorrow that Crowley was certainly not going to ask about. As soon as Richard noticed Crowley staring, he hung his head with an apprehensive expression, his excitement fading into the fearful uncertainty from earlier, and he clutched the reigns tighter in his lap. Oh, heaven. He really was scared of Crowley. That wasn’t what Crowley wanted. It wasn’t Richard’s fault that the Almighty was using him to play a prank on one of the former angels she had disdained. 

“Listen,” Crowley said, forcing himself to sound as pleasant as possible. “I may have been a little curt with you earlier. I didn’t mean it. I just wanted to get moving, that’s all. The sooner you’re off this island, the better. I’m not going to yell at you again, alright? You don’t have to act submissive around me.”

Richard raised his head and peered at him with a cautious frown, probably trying to determine if Crowley was being sincere, not that a vague profile in the darkness gave him much of a clue. But Crowley couldn’t repeat his light trick from earlier, not out in the open like this. Cambridge stood before them in the horizon, its high buildings close enough for even Richard to get an inkling of them in the gloom. 

“I should have hurried onto the horse like you ordered me to,” Richard said with a low and cautious tone.

Crowley winced.

“Not ordered. I didn’t order you. Look. I just… Fuck.”

Richard’s eyes widened. 

“I never thought I’d hear an angel curse,” he murmured.

“Well, I’m not your typical angel.”

He wasn’t any kind of angel, not anymore, but Aziraphale said that it would be better if Richard didn’t know who he was cooperating with for the sake of his immortal soul, and he was probably right. 

“What I was trying to say is,” Crowley continued.

What? What the heaven _was_ he trying to say? You make me uncomfortable because the angel I love would rather be with you than with me, and don’t think that our resemblance doesn’t have plenty to do with that, which just makes it worse, not that Aziraphale would be that shallow, and yet that was definitely happening? 

He couldn’t say any of that. As if he ever would anyway. 

“Just act normal, will you?” he said in the end, defeat sagging his shoulders. “I’m not going to bite you or toss you into hell or anything. I couldn’t do the latter even if I wanted to. So you don’t have to be all meek and deferential to me. Aziraphale wouldn’t like it.”

“Alright,” Richard said.

He didn’t look any less jittery, but at least he wasn’t looking down anymore. An uneasy silence descended between them. Now that Crowley had eased Richard’s nerves a bit, Richard kept sneaking glances at him from the corner of his eyes. It pricked at the back of Crowley’s neck like insects nagging at his skin. 

“What?” Crowley asked, more tired than annoyed now. 

“Nothing. I apologize for staring.”

Richard looked away when Crowley turned to him, but he quickly raised his eyes again, so that was progress. 

“Just say what you were thinking,” Crowley said. “I promise not to get angry.”

_And please don’t tell Aziraphale about any of this_, he almost added, but that would have been too desperate. 

Richard hesitated for a bit longer, but he finally spoke, haltingly, like he was still afraid to say the wrong thing despite everything that Crowley had just said. 

“I knew not what to expect before you arrived, but I did think that you would be… Well… A bit more similar to Aziraphale. Although of course it stands to reason that angels must differ from each other and not all be precisely alike.”

“Yes, it does stand to reason. Some are so different that they even disagreed with God and fell from heaven.”

Richard shivered and frowned up at the sky as if a new demon might plummet from it at any moment. Crowley sighed. Bless, he was tired. 

“Aziraphale and I are very different. We’re also not, but that’s a long conversation which I will not be having right now.” He didn’t owe Richard that much, not for only being rude to him a couple of times. “Listen, I may not be as polite and chirpy as him—although he can indulge in a good sulk when it pleases him, believe me—but I will keep you safe. I’ll even bless you right now for good measure.”

Slowing down his horse, Crowley placed his hand on Richard’s right arm and concentrated on the simple, yet life-altering action. His blessing grafted itself onto Richard, melding with the numerous blessings Aziraphale had bestowed upon him with such love. The feel of them made Crowley start and tremble, his breath stopping. It wouldn’t resume regularly for several minutes. Aziraphale loved every person that he blessed, but it was angelic love, instinctive. It didn’t mean anything. This was real, potent, vibrant love, intoxicating and deafening. 

Why was Crowley so shocked? He knew that Aziraphale loved Richard. This wasn’t new information. He had seen it in his eyes, heard it in his voice as Aziraphale had begged him to rescue Richard, but to feel it viscerally in his bones with the power of a meteor slamming into his body was another matter entirely. 

“Are you well?” Richard asked, sounding close to panic. Their horses had stopped with Richard holding both the reins. When had Crowley’s slipped from his insensate fingers?

“I’m fine,” he muttered, letting go of Richard and taking his reins back.

With a jerky motion, he urged the horse to get going, the leather reins digging into his clutching hands. He faced straight forward, hoping that his stiff, upright posture would dissuade Richard from asking anything else. 

`````````````````````

Crowley found them an inn to stay at for the night. Thanks to Richard’s multiple, protective blessings and Crowley redirecting people’s attention, no one took much notice of two, weary travelers stopping by for a meal and a bed. Richard enjoyed his simple nourishment of bread and roast beef far more than any other king ever had, but he had been subsisting on disgusting scraps that people wouldn’t see fit to feed a dog, after all. Crowley ate his share for appearances’ sake, hardly tasting any of it. He wasn’t remotely in the mood for eating. Sleeping yes, but that he couldn’t do, not when he was on guard duty. Angels were probably inspecting Pomfret Castle right now and trying to determine where the irksome demon had taken their inconvenient loose end. A grin grew on Crowley’s face as he pictured their furious expressions. They would question Aziraphale, but wouldn’t find anything to tie him to the escape. Aziraphale would have eliminated any traces of Crowley’s former presence after he left his home. Soon, word would spread and hell would contact Crowley to ask if he was responsible, and he would lay out the full, nefarious plan before them. He was looking forward to that more than to sharing a room with Richard, who hadn’t dared to say a word to him since Crowley’s embarrassing turn, nor was Crowley in the mood to exchange more words with him than he had to. Not now. Not until the aftershocks of feeling Aziraphale all over him faded off. 

Heaven, he could kill for a drink. A proper drink, not this small beer crap, but he had to stay fully alert at all times, bless it all. After he dropped Richard off in his new residence, he was getting thoroughly sloshed. 

After dinner, he allowed Richard to suck in his fill of being out in the world surrounded by people, then whisked him upstairs to their room. Richard stopped at the threshold, face pinching with anxiety as he surveyed the small space. Crowley sighed. Right. The room, with its bed, desk, chair, and other assorted amenities, hardly looked like his cell, but it was still a confined space with a lock that he had been ordered not to leave. 

“This isn’t your prison,” Crowley said, aiming for a gentle tone. “It’s just an inn. You can leave whenever you want. I mean, I’d rather you didn’t for your safety, but you could. We’ll be gone in the morning.”

Sucking in a steadying breath that didn’t seem to do much, Richard met his eyes and nodded. He stepped into the room, allowing Crowley to close the door behind him. 

“You take the bed,” Crowley said, miracling a Roman sofa for himself. “I’ll sit in this. I’m not going to sleep, anyway.”

“Do you not require sleep?” Richard asked.

Crowley startled a bit at hearing his voice again. 

“Nah,” he said, throwing himself onto the sofa and crossing his ankles. “Didn’t Aziraphale tell you that? I guess you two were… um, busy.”

Fuuuuuuck. 

Really? Crowley went _there_? He scrunched his eyes shut before he could see the embarrassment that was surely on Richard’s face, or catch him noticing the red on Crowley’s own treacherous face. It wasn’t Crowley’s fault. He was a creature of fire. Being a little warm came with the territory. Self-consciousness had nothing to do with it. Ever. He crossed his arms, determined to look unapproachable, and waited for Richard to shed enough clothes to be comfortable before slipping into bed. When the rustling of sheets died down, Crowley cracked an eye open and extinguished the lamp upon the table. He didn’t need that. Richard tossed and turned for a bit. Did he appreciate that it was so much better than sleeping on the floor in his cell or did he bemoan that it was so much poorer than the luxurious mattresses he used to have? Maybe a mix of both. He did seem a lot more humble than he used to be, in any case. Taking a tumble down in the world tended to do that to people. Either that, or they grew even more petty and resentful, like Lucifer had, the overgrown peacock. 

Best not think about tumbling down anywhere. This night was bad enough as it was. At least Aziraphale was happy and Richard wouldn’t be murdered. That had seemed a bit much. It had definitely been so the last time this country got into the deposing kings business, and it wouldn’t be the last time. Crowley should be on the side of revenge and blood, but there had been too much of that stupidity in this century and he needed a godblessed break. Besides, Aziraphale wouldn’t love someone so intensely if they deserved to die.

A brutal sigh dragged out of his throat like a sewer rat armed with knives. Satan, he was beat. He wasn’t even jealous. What was the point? Crowley had loved other people, too, but he’d made sure that they never crossed paths with Aziraphale. This is why Aziraphale hadn’t introduced him and Richard personally. He didn’t want to put Crowley through the discomfort of having to see their tearful good-bye. That would have been too cruel and he knew it. It had been beating him up inside to have to ask Crowley to do this, but there was no one else. Aziraphale’s happiness mattered more to Crowley than his own, so that would have to serve as some small consolation. 

Not that it helped lift his moroseness any as the night dragged on.

And on. 

He wanted to sleeeeeep. Richard was dreaming away, too exhausted to even toss and turn as Crowley had thought he might, teasing him with his blessed lack of consciousness. Hell hadn’t contacted Crowley yet. They tended to avoid doing that when a human was around, even if he wasn’t awake. Pity. It might have actually been distracting for once. 

When the sun finally peeked through the window, Crowley hopped onto his feet and knocked on the table to wake up Richard.

“Rise and shine, sunshine,” he said, clapping his hands. “The sooner we get out of here, the better. Come on.”

Richard sat up, squinting against the morning light, daring to still look exhausted despite having slept for a solid nine hours, the cheeky bastard. Pillowcase creases had engraved his cheek with wrinkled lines. Huh. Was that what Crowley’s face looked like after he woke up from a nap? Good thing Aziraphale was never around when he did. Although Aziraphale would look adorable like this, if he ever caved to Crowley’s suggestion that he give sleeping a try. 

What the fuck was he doing thinking about Aziraphale being adorable right now? _Stab me in the back, why don’t you, treacherous mind?_ Satan, this favor was going to do him in. If he survived with his sanity intact, it would be a miracle. 

Crowley dragged Richard downstairs for a quick breakfast, then back they went on the horses and onto a road to Dover that circumvented London. Stopping there would be more convenient, but it would be immensely stupid to take an ex-king who should be languishing in the far north where he stood a good chance of being recognized. Yet even despite the overwhelming time pressure, Richard dragged his horse’s heels in leaving Cambridge, his head turning this way and that to every building they passed, whether it was a humble house or the tall church in the middle of town. He stopped completely before the church, gazing up at the imposing edifice with a mix of adulation and fear, and something else that Crowley tried so hard to ignore when he thought about a certain place in his wee hours of despair. 

“We have to go,” he told Richard, but not unkindly, not this time. He had even given him an extra minute to contemplate the building despite the air of divinity making Crowley’s hackles rise and his flesh tremble. Nostalgia was a cruel master not easily wrenched away. Richard may not have left the only home he had ever known yet, but the day was coming, and much too soon if Crowley could help it. Richard’s lips tightened, hands trembling on the reins as he forced himself to turn away and follow Crowley’s lead. 

“Will I be able to step into one again?” Richard asked after a while.

“Best not to. Heaven doesn’t usually pay attention, but best not risk it.”

This seemed to depress Richard more. He hung his head and sighed low in this throat. Neither of their moods improved throughout the day, which was rainy and miserable in every way possible. Crowley had to miracle Richard an extra coat before he froze to death from the wind, while also dissuading the rain from touching either of them. Only to have to allow themselves to be soaked to the bone when they ran across another group of travelers coming in the opposite direction. Being perfectly dry in the midst of a monsoon tended to get one noticed. Then the group just had to stop and chit chat, because of course they did. What news from up north, and blah, blah, blah. Nothing exciting to report. No deposed kings had escaped their wretched prisons. Everything was a-okay. Richard wasn’t any help. He had apparently taken it upon himself to pretend to be a mute, for he didn’t utter a peep, and only replied to the travelers with nods and head shakes while compromising their cover story of being merchants by looking terrified of interacting with another human being. These were farmers, for crying out loud. They weren’t going to recognize him if he opened his mouth. He didn’t speak any posher than Crowley did when the mood struck him. 

Then Crowley remembered and kicked himself. It hadn’t only been noble traitors who had cast him out. Commoners just like these had thrown dirt and spit on his head while he was dragged through the streets of London, shackled like a common criminal. Crowley hadn’t seen it, but he had heard the tale from enough people, including Aziraphale, who had been close to tears as he recounted it, vibrating with angelic rage. Had he been the smiting type, more than a couple of Richard’s abusers would have found themselves praying for forgiveness that day. Crowley had considered doing so himself on his behalf. Against the noblemen, anyway. The commoners had a right to their grievances. Richard had bled them dry with taxes to spend on frivolities and foreign wars. He had been a prime candidate for some quality temptation, but like so often happened, there had been no need. And Aziraphale wouldn’t have been so understanding about this one, so Crowley counted himself lucky that was never ordered to. 

Crowley urged Richard to take the lead as they parted from the travelers and finally went on their way. He didn’t think of it as shielding Richard from them for his peace of mind, but yeah, that might have been his intention. Now that he was no longer being observed by potentially hostile eyes, Richard allowed his apprehension to show. His breath shook and his whole body shivered as he looked straight ahead at the poor excuse for a road with the focus of one who would fall apart if he did otherwise. 

Crowley sighed. Great. The whole trip wasn’t going to be like this, was it? Oh, who was he kidding? Of course it was. There was no point in saying anything, so he kept his mouth shut. He guarded Richard’s back until the travelers were out of sight.

They didn’t speak until they stopped to rest and eat dinner a few yards from the road. Well, Richard ate. Crowley still wasn’t in the mood, and the one who actually needed nourishment should have it. Crowley spread out a cloth for Richard to sit on, then walked a few paces away to stretch his legs. The horses grazed beside them. When were humans going to invent better modes of transportation? There had to be something. Surely, he wasn’t going to be forced to ride a horse for the rest of eternity. At least the rain had let up, although dark clouds still threatened above. 

Aziraphale had shielded him from the first rain. He hadn’t even known Crowley and had every reason to hate him, what with the whole apple business, yet he had been kind and friendly to the lonely demon who just fancied a chat. Crowley would ever be in awe of Aziraphale’s capacity for love, even towards a demon. Or a human. Crowley gazed at Richard from the corner of his eye. Richard had his back to him, so he couldn’t see him spying on him. His once shiny and perfectly combed hair was tangled and oily now. Would he be horrified if he saw himself in the mirror, or take it as his due for his grievous transgressions against those who thought themselves his betters? 

A false equivalence. Richard really had mucked things up. If Crowley had mentioned Richard’s name to the travelers earlier, they would have regaled them with a litany of complaints, all justified, although death was still a bit harsh. 

Maybe he was just being soft because Aziraphale loved this one. Others in the same situation would hate Richard for it, but Crowley couldn’t muster the energy to do that. Or even the why. Richard may be at fault for many things, but not that. He didn’t have the merest inkling of what he’d stepped into. 

Maybe it was the similarity in their circumstances that was making Crowley so morose. Banishment was banishment, after all.

“France isn’t so bad, you know,” Crowley said, going over to sit across from Richard, crossing his legs under him. “You already know French, so that should make it easier. And they have fancy buildings and forests to look at, too. Not to mention people who don’t want you dead, so that’s a big plus.”

Richard’s chewing slowed around his piece of bread as he gazed unseeing at the blanket, his face somehow growing more mournful.

“I will appreciate not being around people who despise me,” Richard said. “I’ve had naught but that of late. But I will still never see my home again. The land of my birth. Where I played as a child and mistook myself for lord of all to my own detriment. For banishing others, I am now banished myself with a much more final outcome. Now I would be content with a simple house in a field such as this with no one to flatter me, as long as it was in England. The former I will have, I suppose, but not the latter.”

Satan, this never got any easier.

“I’m afraid not, sorry. But you’ve got French ancestry, so it’s not like France is completely disconnected from you. All you English kings have certainly been very insistent about claiming it since your grandfather got the ball rolling. So that helps, doesn’t it? It’s not like you’re being thrown out to the opposite side of the world somewhere that you’ve never heard of before, where everything’s ugly and everyone hates you. If we do our job right, no one will know who you are or where you came from. No one will care who you were before. What questions you asked. What horrible transgressions you committed to get yourself thrown into hell. Which France isn’t, that’s my point. You were in hell, your prison, and now you’re out. You’re free. You still have to do what I tell you and keep your head down, but otherwise free. No one is breathing down your neck.”

Not that Richard had ever had superiors before a couple of months ago, so what did he know? 

Richard frowned at him in confusion, his bread completely forgotten on his lap. 

“Forgive me if I speak out of turn,” he said, softly, afraid to offend him, “but not all that you said applied to me.”

Crowley tensed. Shit. He’d said too much. He’d gotten nervous and started babbling. His tone had gotten bitter and angry, too. Fuck!

“If you’re implying,” Crowley said, “that I’m talking about myself, that’s my business, not yours. My point is, your life isn’t all terrible. You’ll be fine eventually. Just finish eating okay? We need to get going.”

Before he could embarrass himself any further, Crowley stood up and walked off, pretending to be fascinated by the horses eating. Within seconds, Richard had stuffed the rest of the bread in his mouth and joined him by the horses, still chewing around a mouthful that bulged his cheeks. Crowley groaned internally. Now he was rushing Richard before he got a chance to eat properly. He could hear Aziraphale reprimanding him in his head. 

_The poor man was starved for weeks and you can’t even grant him the reprieve of an uninterrupted midday meal?_

That was his fault, too. Everything was his fault. His Fall. The apple. Being mean to Aziraphale’s favorite because he was too bitter to be proper company for anyone. Saddling his horse, he mounted, barely keeping from storming off before Richard got a chance to in his haste to get the heaven out of here and get this job over with. 

Richard didn’t speak a word for the rest of the day. He hardly even dared look at Crowley, for which Crowley was really glad, though he shouldn’t be. Richard must have all sorts of whimsical theories dancing around his head. 

_Why does this angel look like me?_

_Why was he talking about banishment as if it were so intimately personal that it still ached in the core of his spirit?_

_And what is it with the dark glasses?_

He had to be wondering about the glasses. Hardly a popular fashion accessory. And angels didn’t usually go around wearing black or having black wings. Was there much of a point in hiding his vile demoness from him? Aziraphale didn’t go in for the naïve type. Richard was intelligent. Well, not as far as governance was concerned, but it didn’t take much to figure this out as long as you were willing to entertain the possibility that an angel could be friends with a demon. 

They stopped at another inn for the night. Crowley set up his sofa again while Richard took the bed, but it was too early for him to go to sleep yet even though his exhaustion from the ride collapsed him into the mattress as soon as he saw it. While Crowley lied back and closed his eyes, yearning for sleep that he couldn’t have for weeks from now, Richard tossed on his bed, as restless as an anxious mouse. After a while, Crowley heard a dull thunk as he dropped something on the mattress. Crowley opened his eyes. Richard was digging through his satchel for one of the books.

“What are you reading?” Crowley asked him when he’d made his selection.

Crowley had been mild and friendly, yet Richard still looked at him uncertainly. Crowley resisted the urge to sigh. Just when he’d gotten Richard comfortable enough in his presence, he had to mess it up.

“It is a manuscript,” Richard said. “My own copy Le Morte D’Arthur. Aziraphale recovered it for me.”

Richard smiled fondly at the leather-bound volume, sending Aziraphale a quick prayer, probably to thank him for returning his beloved book. Crowley might not be able to know what people were praying about, but the hint of divine energy produced by a prayer tingled in the back of his neck every time he was near one. And Richard had been praying plenty. While they rode. While they ate. As Richard fell asleep last night. If Crowley were human, he’d be breaking out in a cold sweat at the mountain of complaints that Richard was surely sending Aziraphale’s way. 

“So you’re a book lover like Aziraphale,” Crowley said, trying to sound cheerful. “That’s good.”

He had to play nice. He did not want an angry angel smiting him, so he had to pretend to be a nice, lovely person even if it killed him.

“I am,” Richard said. 

Richard hesitated, looking down at the sheets, the book sinking into his lap. There was another question on the tip of his tongue. A veritable flood of questions. Crowley dropped his head back, staring blearily at the ceiling. 

“Do you enjoy reading?” Richard asked.

Oh. He had asked after all. So Crowley’s rude manner hadn’t fully cowed him into submission. There was hope after all. He raised his head. Richard was looking at him, summoning some of his previous, regal bearing in his upright posture, even as he regarded Crowley with caution. 

“Only short stuff,” Crowley said. “I prefer to listen to a storyteller or see a play. Any kind of live performance, really. Not a Greek tragedy, though. Or a Roman one, for that matter, though they were rubbish at them. Comedies. Something light that makes you laugh.”

“I think I would prefer that myself at the moment.”

“I bet you would. The Odyssey is also good. The monsters are fun. I’ve seen too much of real war to enjoy The Iliad, though.”

Was he babbling again? Maybe. He didn’t know how the heaven to talk to Richard, anyway, so he might as well blurt out the first thing that came into his head, as long as it didn’t make Richard cower. And Richard looked interested instead of intimidated for once, so points in Crowley’s favor. 

“Reading Homer,” he continued, “feels so flat compared to hearing a proper storyteller recite it.”

Aziraphale was a proper storyteller. Many had been the nights that they had wiled away with Aziraphale reading to him or reciting from memory, adopting all the proper dramatic embellishes, even jumping to his feet to act out the parts when the mood struck him, brimming with energy and excited flourishes. 

“Listening to Homer himself was even better,” Crowley continued, pushing the happy memories aside before he betrayed himself. He could already feel a content smile jerking at the corners of his lips.

Richard perked up, standing up straighter, face bright with awe.

“You listened to Homer himself?” he asked, breathless.

“Yup. I met him while he was working on The Odyssey. I even helped him write down some of it while he was composing, not that he needed anyone to read it back to him after he was done. He kept it all up in his head until the day he died. Made a good show of it too when he was younger. You’d think that Poseidon himself was crashing his waves against your back when he spoke.”

Richard was leaning forward now, fascinated by every word Crowley said. Crowley grinned. Well, look who had gotten over his fear. 

“Aziraphale always envied me that. He never got to meet Homer himself.”

“I cannot imagine what a privilege that must have been. To behold Homer himself recite such magnificent words.”

“Yeah, it was nice. There was no one quite like him.” Crowley glanced at the book, which Richard had forgotten on his lap. “Aziraphale is in that one, you know.”

Richard’s eyes widened even further. He looked almost comical, like a fish with its mouth open. Crowley didn’t look like that when he was surprised, did he?

“He is?” Richard asked.

Crowley nodded. Richard looked down at the book, then right back at him. 

“You mean Sir Aziraphale and him are the same?”

Crowley nodded again. He hadn’t meant to mention Aziraphale. It had just come out. It was the exhaustion talking, that was all. 

“Are you in it, as well?” Richard asked.

Oh, that was a tricky one. 

“I am, but I’m not telling you who. I kept my name out of it for a reason.”

The reason had been that “The Black Knight” sounded so much more impressive than Sir Crowley, but what obvious conclusion would Richard come to if Crowley told him that he had been an enemy of King Arthur? Not terribly angelic of him, was it? 

“Are you any good at recitation?” Crowley asked before Richard asked any more questions.

“I’ve not done it much, so I’m not certain.”

He definitely didn’t sound certain. 

“You could give it a shot. If you want. I’m not pressuring you or anything.”

Richard probably still took that as an order, for he didn’t hesitate before opening his book and propping it on his lap, bending forward to peer at the text. He’d get a crick in his neck soon if he stayed like that for long. With a flick of his wrist, Crowley raised the book up in the air and hovered it at eye level. Richard jerked back, gasping and clutching the mattress.

“Sorry,” Crowley said.

So much for not scaring Richard. But what else was a demon supposed to do? Richard was gaping at the book like it might explode in his face at any moment.

“It won’t fall,” Crowley said. “I just thought it would be easier for you to read it this way.”

Shooting him a cautious glance, Richard slowly released the bed and sat normally. He licked his lips, frowning at the text and reaching up to touch the book, but he stopped himself before he made contact. He cleared his throat. 

“It befell in the days of Uther Pendragon…” he began.

Good, old Uther. Crowley settled back in his sofa and shut his eyes, folding his hands on his stomach as he listened to Richard’s halting voice. He wasn’t great, but most of it was just nerves. And Crowley was probably the only person he had ever performed for. Well, other than that whole handing over the crown business, but this was a little less traumatizing. More willing, too, Crowley hoped. Richard loosened up after a bit, his words flowing more easily, although he kept tripping over some of them. Crowley had the same problem, for which he was constantly apologizing whenever Aziraphale begged him to read to him, all dopey eyes and soft, little “please”s.

Another thing that Richard and he had in common. Brilliant. Maybe Crowley was wrong and Richard had performed for someone before. Had they indulged in a little companionable reading during their encounters? Was Crowley just picking up the scraps of their relationship?

Bless it all. Now hearing Richard speak was making him wince, but he couldn’t tell him to stop now. Richard would think that he was displeased with him and he’d grow shy again. Crowley was displeased, but not with him. Alright, yes with him, but not _him_ him. Aziraphale more than anyone else. And God. Scratch that, God was the main culprit. Aziraphale didn’t need to ask anyone else to read for him. He had Crowley. So what if their relationship would never be sanctioned by the higher-ups? They had been breaking the rules by being chummy since the beginning. What did a little more physical closeness and a more overt commitment matter? Crowley was plenty committed already. It was Aziraphale who kept dragging his feet, casting furtive glances at the sky, squeezing his fingers in distress at the thought that they might be found out. It drove Crowley round the bend.

But he couldn’t be angry at him. Pressuring Aziraphale would be wrong. He neither could nor would do it, so if Aziraphale insisted on holding him at arm’s length when it pleased him for the next hundred years, the next millennium, heaven, the next eternity, Crowley wouldn’t protest. He would accept what much or little Aziraphale would give him. Although, if Aziraphale tried to break things off completely, he would put up some sort of a fight. But Aziraphale never would, would he? 

The bitter seed of doubt stained his tongue. He wasn’t even listening to Richard anymore, the sound of his voice a low drone in the background. Richard wasn’t any kind of a better match for Aziraphale, either. Heaven didn’t think much of being so close to a human, although Aziraphale was considered a bit of a weirdo in heaven, from what Crowley heard. And Richard was going to Heaven, after all, as long as he didn’t mess things up again. One of the saved, who Aziraphale could just pop up and visit whenever he pleased. Not a damned, forbidden demon like Crowley, who would always have him looking over his shoulder in case the oh so holy Archangels happened to be watching. 

“Do you want me to keep reading?” Richard asked. 

Crowley hadn’t even noticed when he had stopped. Or when he himself had turned away on his side, either. Untucking his hands from under his chin, Crowley looked at Richard, who was regarding him with that familiar apprehension.

“If you want,” Crowley said. “You’re doing fine. You don’t have to, though. It was just a thought.”

He didn’t even have to struggle not to be blunt that time. He was all tapped out, his energy drained like water squeezed from a sponge in a vicious hand. Richard turned back to the book, licking his bottom lip in consideration. He stood up and poured himself a glass of water from the jug that Crowley had provided for him. Crowley turned over, closing his eyes again. No more reading, then. It wasn’t like he’d been paying attention, anyway. The mattress groaned as Richard sat on it again. 

“When the duke had this warning, anon he went,” Richard read.

Crowley’s eyes flew open. Why was Richard reading again?

“You really don’t have to,” Crowley said.

Richard broke off midsentence, frowning at him in cautious confusion.

“Do you not wish me to? You said I could if I wanted to.”

Crowley narrowed his eyes at him.

“You actually want to?” he asked.

Richard’s fingers flexed in his lap.

“Yes.” 

“You’re not just saying that? I don’t want you thinking that you have to entertain me.”

“I want to. If it doesn’t bother you.”

“It doesn’t bother me. Fine. I just wanted to make sure. Go on, then, I guess.”

Crowley lied down again, on his back this time, a far more dignified position, and crossed his ankles. Richard resumed his recitation. It still wasn’t great, but it wasn’t terrible. Crowley was still not paying attention, but he did try to this time.


	4. Chapter 4

At daybreak, they resumed their travels with another day of dull riding through the countryside, but this time there was a bit more conversation. Crowley decided that it hadn’t been terrible to have Richard gazing at him in rapt curiosity as he talked about famous people from the past, so he started talking about ancient Egypt. That morphed into Mesopotamia, then the beginning of the world, leaving out the fact that he had been the serpent who tempted Eve, of course. He also left Aziraphale out of it as much as he could. Stirring up those bittersweet memories yesterday had cut too deep. Richard was just as intrigued as before and less shy about asking questions. Crowley didn’t scare him once for the whole day. Yay him. Aziraphale would be so proud. 

Richard read to him again that night. Crowley didn’t even ask him to. Richard just opened his book in his lap and began reading away. Crowley raised it up again in the air so that Richard wasn’t craning his neck, but he didn’t tell him to stop. If Richard wanted to read aloud, that was his business. Crowley did try to pay attention to him, at least, even if he didn’t do a great job of it. All he wanted to do was sleep. His body didn’t need it, so lack of it shouldn’t affect him in the least. And yet, since he’d first been assigned to Earth, he had found himself craving its sweet escape from reality. He indulged in it far more than he should, but life was tiring, so why shouldn’t he? Even if he often woke up feeling as exhausted as when he’d closed his eyes, it was still worth it to get away for a while in the only way that he could. And he did feel weary if it had been a long time since he’d slept, physically as well as mentally. It didn’t make sense, and yet his body sagged and his energy withered just like in a human body, only much more slowly. Like now, sunken into his sofa, listening to Richard’s soft snores in the silence of the night. Just another pleasure that his double enjoyed while Crowley could only look on in yearning. 

`````````````````

The next morning was less calm. It really had been a miracle that they hadn’t overheard someone complaining about their ex-king until now, but it wasn’t one of Crowley’s doing. While they sat in the common area of the inn eating breakfast, the name “King Richard” reached his ears from the table next to them. He tensed, going on high alert. Was there news of Richard’s escape? He had already taken stock of the exits, the front one of which he was facing. The rear one would be best, though. Less conspicuous. Richard betrayed his shock by dropping a piece of egg back on his plate, gasping, eyes wide and filled with fear. Crowley shot him a look, silently urging him to calm down.

“I expect he’s not liking the luxuries of the castle dungeons,” one of the men said. There were three of them, all craftsmen given their worn, yet decent enough clothes and the calluses on their roughened hands. “Serves him right.”

Crowley relaxed a fraction. They didn’t know. They were just venting their grievances. And no one here would recognize Richard, so there was nothing to worry about. But as the men kept pilling on about what a cruel king Richard had been, stripping them of every penny they had with their taxes, even being so unnatural as to steal from his own kin, Richard began to shrink in his seat, back hunching as he folded in on himself, his lips pressed painfully tight, hands retreating under the table. If Crowley looked, he suspected that he would find them curled up and trembling. Richard stared blearily at the table, food forgotten in front of him, seeing nothing but the grievous mistakes that had dragged him to this fate, a hunted traitor in his own home, which had been supposed to hold and protect him. 

The men yelled, jumping to their feet as the table broke under them with a loud crack, nearly crushing their feet. A bit showier than Crowley had intended, but that was all the mercy they would get from him. And only because Richard really had messed things up himself. 

“Come on,” Crowley told Richard, standing up and turning away from a haunted expression too similar to the one that he remembered aching in his own face while he struggled not to drown in scorching sulfur. Richard followed him out of the inn and into the street.

“Are we not going to the stables?” Richard asked, his voice shaky even as he tried to hold his head up high.

“Not yet. Let’s take a walk first. I’m sick of sitting on a horse all day.”

Walking would do them both good. If Richard was anything like him, it would soothe his mind, even if only for a little while. The streets were packed with all manner of people going on about their morning business. Like he’d had to for this whole trip, Crowley allowed the mud squishing beneath their feet to stain their boots. He cleaned it off the moment that they reached the edge of town and veered off into farm country towards the river that bordered the town, the vegetation brown and dry in the cold of winter. Crowley sent a burst of warmth towards Richard when he began to shiver from the chilly breeze. Yellowed grass brushed their ankles as they crossed a field towards the river’s bank. It wasn’t a large river, nothing much to look at. Just a simple stream, its waters rushing past from the far north. Crowley half-expected Richard to ask what they were doing there, but Richard stayed silent, gazing at the river with the same detachment as back in the inn, his mind’s eye lost in different worlds entirely. Crowley crossed his arms and waited, watching the subtle flow of the stream, the soothing bubbling of eddies traveling over rocks and uneven ground in the river floor. He had indulged in this relaxing exercise along many rivers in many places in this world, each one granting him only momentary relief. Richard stared at the water, too, but Crowley wasn’t sure that he was seeing it at all. His arms hung at his sides, clutching at the ends of his jacket with trembling fingers, eyes wide and lost in despair. 

“They hate me,” he whispered after a long while had gone past, sounding as broken as he looked. 

“Well, you knew that already.”

Richard’s breath shook with a half-hearted scoff.

“How could I not, when they threw dirt and rotten meat at my head as my cousin paraded me across London? But to hear it again… To have those words spoken to me so close… And they did not even speak of what I did to my uncle. Both uncles. Only my uncle York forgave me, and he turned his back to me when it came to it. I never, for one moment, thought that what I was doing was so wrong as to cast me into this parlous state. What does that say about me? About my soul? Can I truly be saved? Aziraphale assures me that I can, that I’m saved now. But I confess, may he forgive me, that I find it hard to believe it when even heaven has removed its grace from me. It has rendered the balm with which I was anointed king no more than the water in this stream. I never thought that this could be possible. I wondered if it was I or Bolingbroke who was damned. In the end, it was me.”

Great. More talk about damnation and being betrayed by heaven. Just what Crowley needed.

“You’re not damned,” Crowley said. “I would be able to sense it if you were. And if Aziraphale says that you aren’t, then you’re not. He wouldn’t lie to you.”

Although Crowley suspected that sometimes he lied to him. 

“And don’t worry so much about heaven playing favorites with someone else. Heaven is petty and changeable, but the angels in charge can’t do anything to alter your eternal fate. That’s all up to you. Humans have the capacity of being forgiven, no matter how vile your transgressions. So really, stop worrying about it.”

Crowley interpreted Richard’s ensuing silence as him calming down as he absorbed Crowley’s words. 

He should have known better.

“When you speak of heaven,” Richard said. “Of God. You sound bitter.”

Oh, shit. 

Shit, shit, shit! 

Crowley had gotten too comfortable around Richard. He’d let his guard down. He knew he should have been nicer from the beginning, playacted at being a proper angel. 

“It’s complicated,” he said quickly. “It’s angelic politics. You wouldn’t understand. It’s too complex for a human mind.”

“It didn’t sound so when Aziraphale explained it.”

Fuck! 

“Well, I’m sure he simplified it.”

“Likewise, when you spoke of my banishment, it sounded like you were remembering something that happened to you.”

“You’re reading too much into it.”

“Why do you always have dark glasses on?”

Crowley’s right hand fisted on his chest, his only outward sign that Richard’s questioning was affecting him.

“I like them.”

“They’re not common. They make you stand out, just when we are supposed to be blending it and not calling attention to ourselves. Would it not be better to not wear them for the time being?

“It’s none of your business why I wear them.”

“And why are you always dressed in black? Your wings are also black. I wouldn’t have expected an angel to look so.”

“Just goes to show how much you know about angels.”

“Aziraphale said that he trusts you above all beings except for God.”

He did?

“So I cannot think,” Richard continued, “why you would be anything other than an angel.”

Crowley’s fists were tensed so tightly that his bones were creaking. 

“Oh, fuck it all,” he ground out.

Richard flinched, startled. 

“Aziraphale told me not to tell you,” Crowley said, “but the jig is up, so why the heaven not? You want to know what I am?”

Turning towards Richard, Crowley took off his sunglasses. Richard gasped, jumping back, gaping at him in horror.

“It’s true,” he gasped, shaking. “You’re a… a demon.”

His voice lowered into a whisper so low that even Crowley barely heard it.

“In the flesh.”

Crowley stretched out his arms at his sides in a “ta da” gesture. He would have stretched out his wings, too, but one of the other humans might see him, and he already had one panicked one to deal with. 

“But how? How can Aziraphale trust a demon? How could an angel…” Richard’s eyes widened further, even more terrified. “He is an angel, isn’t he? I haven’t been led astray by the devil?”

“The devil doesn’t care about you. And don’t you dare question Aziraphale’s angelic nature. He is a far better, purer angel than the rest of that lot up in heaven. I am honored to be able to call him a friend. Yes, he’s friends with a demon. That’s how much of a loving soul he is. I was an angel once, you know. Me and Aziraphale aren’t so different. Sure, I’m not nice and I can’t step inside a church without feeling like every fiber of my being is on fire, but I can bless and grant miracles and keep you safe for the next decades so that you can see Aziraphale again in heaven. You’re not suddenly tainted because I’m helping you. Things really are so much more complicated than you humans think they are, making everything so black and white. Aziraphale and I built a middle ground for ourselves. You’re not so innocent yourself. Weren’t you lamenting being an accomplice to the murder of your kin just a few minutes ago? The difference between you and me is that you can be forgiven. God gave you that blessed luxury. Anything you do. Just repent and poof. As if it never happened. But I can’t. I could beg and plead for the entire lifetime of the Earth and still never be granted a fraction of the mercy you’re being given. So what? That makes me so loathsome and evil, does it? I didn’t even mean to fall. I just asked questions. I haven’t committed massacres or drowned entire civilizations. You wouldn’t take mercy on me, either. No, not some grand, self-important monarch like you. If I were one of your subjects, you’d throw me in the Tower. Cut my head off if I showed too much cheek. I don’t take a very kind view of this whole ordained by God monarchical system. Best you know that. I wasn’t rooting for you to keep your crown. But Aziraphale was. He's the only reason why I'm helping you, at a risk to myself, I'll have you know. I’m a demon doing an angel’s bidding. Make of that what you will.”

Spent, he turned back toward the river and stared straight ahead, his whole body vibrating with rage and frustration, only a fraction directed at Richard, who was only a small cog in the machine of the cruel God upstairs, directing them like her little puppets. Richard’s implacable stare pricked his skin, making it rise in goosebumps that sent shivers down his spine. 

Aziraphale wouldn’t be happy about this. But he did go in for the smart ones. There was no way that Richard wouldn’t have figured it out eventually. Any moment now, Richard might run, send a prayer to Aziraphale, beg to know how the angel could stick him with a demon. 

But he didn’t. He stayed right where he was, trembling, no less fearful. 

“You’re a demon,” Richard said, struggling to keep his voice steady but failing miserably. “who claims not to be evil?”

“I never said I’m not evil. Part of a demon’s job description, isn’t it?”

“But Aziraphale trusts you.”

It was a plea. 

“He does. And I trust him. More than anyone.”

“How did this happen? How is it possible?”

“We just started talking, that’s all.”

“That’s all it takes for an angel and demon to become friends?”

“I wouldn’t be friends with any angel. Just him. And I don’t like the other demons, either, in case you’re wondering.”

“I don’t understand.”

“We like each other, and understand each other. There isn’t some complex, esoterical reason. It is what it is. And before you ask the other question, which I saw on your face the first time you looked at me, us looking alike is either a coincidence or a divine joke. I’m leaning towards the latter, but you’d probably prefer the former option, so let's go with that.”

Richard frowned at him with such desperate confusion that he looked like he would fall over any second. Maybe Crowley should miracle a chair before he did, although the muddy ground was soft enough and Crowley could just clean him off afterward. 

Crowley itched. Not his skin. His mind. His soul. Everything felt off-kilter and unpleasant, as if worms were crawling over him. Richard would be impossible to travel with now. The modicum of ease that Crowley had slowly eked out of him during the last couple of days had vanished. Richard would never be relaxed around him now. Their days would continue in an icy silence in which Richard cowered before him in fear and questioned whether or not he was damned, after all. 

A weary sigh burst from Crowley’s chest. 

“Look,” he said. “However you feel about me, I’m your only ticket out of here. No one else is going to help you, and I won’t let Aziraphale risk himself further by taking you into exile himself. He’s done enough to land himself into serious trouble. You’re stuck with me, so you better get used to it. I’d tell you that you’re wasting your time by being afraid of me, but I’m probably wasting my breath. I’m not going to tempt you or corrupt you or drag you to hell. Which demons can’t do, by the way. Aziraphale wants you safe, so you will be.”

Richard kept staring at him, as silent as a statue. The discomfort prickling inside Crowley increased.

“Could you cut that out?” Crowley said. “Stop staring at me. Say something. React. If you’re going to be like this for the rest of the time, I’m going to lose my mind.”

Richard gulped, a small whimper squeaking in his throat. Satan, here came the guilt again. Crowley was being as gentle as he possibly could. He wasn’t even being menacing or anything. 

“It’s a lot to take in,” Richard mumbled, lowering his head while casting anxious glances at Crowley from the corner of his eye. 

“Well, take it in so we can get past it already.”

“Things that I took for truths are lies. How can I get past that quickly? I beg you, please, give me some time. My status isn’t what I thought. Aziraphale wasn’t who I thought. Now not even heaven and hell, angels and demons, even God himself—herself—is who I thought. All these things put together… They’re not so simple to accept.”

Half-way through, Richard began hugging himself, staring blearily at the ground as if it might provide answers while really giving none. His breath shook, his knees bending under him, and he sank to the ground, sinking into the squishy grass, hugging his knees to his chest. Crowley rubbed the back of his neck, sheepishness tingling in his gut. Well, at least Richard hadn’t run away. And he wasn’t bracing himself as if Crowley were about to attack him at any second. That was also a plus. Crowley crouched down in front of him, keeping a little distance between them. Richard looked up at him, no less wary.

“Listen, um,” Crowley said, rubbing his neck again. “We can stay here for a bit longer, but we do need to get going soon. You can keep processing all this while we ride. I just want to make sure that you’re not going to try to get away from me. I’m not going to hurt you. Just like angels, demons have no say on what happens to you after you die. So you’re not going to be suddenly damned just because you’re hanging out with me. Aziraphale wouldn’t have saddled you with me if that were the case. You do trust Aziraphale, don’t you?”

That was a long hesitation. Oh, shit. Why hadn’t Crowley been more cautious? If his carelessness had shattered Richard’s confidence in Aziraphale, Crowley would never forgive himself.

“Yes,” Richard said.

Crowley’s eyes widened at that simple word, spoken with such certainty. His tense muscles sagged. He squeezed his lips before he could betray himself by sighing in relief. 

“I love and trust him still,” Richard said. “No one has ever been kinder to me. And no one has ever felt purer and filled with divine light. I’ve never felt that from you. That’s how I began to suspect.”

Huh. Crowley hadn’t considered that. 

“I had wondered how Aziraphale” Richard continued, “could give his love to me after I had lost the grace of heaven. It makes sense now that I know that he had already given it to a demon.”

Richard’s continued use of the word “love” was making Crowley squirm inside. It wasn’t like he hadn’t known for millennia that Aziraphale loved him, but talking about loving Aziraphale wasn’t something that he wished to do with anyone, much less the human who had lied with him the way that Crowley so yearned to. 

“We’re not like that,” Crowley said, standing up and facing the river. “We don’t do the things that you two did.”

Richard’s frown deepened. 

“But are you not, then…” Richard cut himself off, lowering his eyes. “Forgive me. I shouldn’t pry.”

Crowley’s eyes narrowed.

“Am I not what?”

Richard shook his head, looking at the ground, fingers worrying at his hose.

“I really shouldn’t say.”

“It’s too late. You already said it. Out with it.”

Richard bit his bottom lip, casting a shy glance at Crowley before sucking in a breath.

“Aziraphale didn’t say anything as such. He only let slip a couple of comments. Implications that there is someone who he loves, but he wouldn’t speak of them to me. Someone who made his eyes dance with joy yet also made him somber and sad. I caught him gazing at a painting of the Archangel Michael trampling a demon underfoot, his face pinched, mind both on the image and far away, but where, he wouldn’t say. I could tell that it distressed him, but he changed the subject with an unusual bluntness that would have earned him a rebuke were he anyone else. I always wondered why the painting should affect him so.”

Richard fell silent, but the intensity of his curious stare boring into Crowley’s eyes finished his thought for him. Crowley clenched his jaw and stood up, his breath stopped in his chest, every muscle tense as his throat squeezed with agonizing certainty. 

“We need to leave,” he said, voice flat and devoid of emotion. “We’re losing daylight.”

He waited for Richard to push himself to his feet, then started walking without looking at him. 

They didn’t speak on their way back into town. Richard hung back a pace behind, casting him apprehensive looks that Crowley refused to acknowledge. Crowley settled their account at the inn and led him to the stable, where they saddled their horses and went on their way. Richard hung like a silent shadow at his side for the rest of the morning, which was just as well, because Crowley was in no mood for conversation. It wasn’t like Richard had told him anything that he didn’t already know. Yet his words had cut through him like holy water. No matter how much Aziraphale loved him, he would never allow himself to be with Crowley. Crowley was the Fallen. A dangerous rebel and a traitor. No angel should so much as look upon him without sneering at best and killing him at worst. It was a miracle that Aziraphale allowed himself as much closeness with Crowley as he already had. Crowley could never ask for more, and he would never be granted it, no matter how miserable it made them both. Such was their doom for the rest of eternity. 

“I should not have spoken,” Richard said while he ate lunch by the side of the road.

Crowley turned from where he had been gazing at the woods around them, meeting Richard’s shy, yet contrite eyes. He seemed genuinely regretful of causing Crowley pain, not just afraid of him.

“It doesn’t matter,” Crowley said, turning away. “It’s nothing I didn’t already know.”

Silence fell between them again for the rest of the day and into the night as they stopped at their next inn, now only a few miles from Dover, yet still too far for comfort. They took their now familiar spots on the bed and the sofa. Richard didn’t bother taking out his books. As soon as they entered the room, he lied down, facing the wall. Only after Crowley had extinguished the light did Richard’s cautious voice rise in the air. 

“You cannot be fully evil or Aziraphale wouldn’t trust you.”

Crowley’s hackles rose at the notion that he was any less the demon that he was meant to be, but he had no energy to be combative. He would just be shooting himself in the foot, anyway. Richard was searching for ways to justify associating with a demon, so whatever means he found, so be it. 

“I don’t revel in torture and murder like some of the others do, if that’s what you mean.”

Richard didn’t respond right away, but Crowley felt him relax a bit. 

“His interest in me,” Richard said, “is it because my form resembles yours? Would he have paid me more attention than his assignment required had I looked different?”

Crowley stared at the ceiling, willing away the sting in his eyes.

“I don’t know. He’s not shallow. He wouldn’t have asked me to do this if he didn’t care for you as a person. But let’s face it, there’s no way that your looks don’t figure in somehow.”

Richard hugged the blanket tighter around himself. Crowley’s hands fisted, grabbing at the pillow beneath his head as he turned away. Look at them. Both pining after the same angel, who was less than honest with both of them. How was that for a bonding moment? 

“He does love you,” Crowley said, the words tasting like glass. “I’m not saying that to reassure you. It’s a fact. And he’s more willing to be with you than with me, even though he has to wait the rest of your life. So never mind why you caught his eye.”

“He still loves you more than he does me. That is also a fact. I’m certain of it.”

Crowley squeezed his pillow harder and pressed his face upon it, smothering his stinging breath. 

They spoke no more than night.

````````````````

The next morning, Crowley crawled out of his sofa, stretched his weary bones, and nudged Richard awake with his hand on his shoulder. It was the first time that he had awoken him by touching him. He didn’t really know why he was doing so this time, but… 

Yeah, he actually did. Richard blinked at him, his eyes taking a moment to focus on his face, the edges encrusted with tears of sleep. He looked startled by Crowley’s close proximity and a little cautious, but not afraid. That was surprising. Crowley had expected him to remain spooked for a long time to come, if not forever. 

“Time to get up,” Crowley said. “We should reach Dover today.”

Richard’s face pinched in alarm, but he got out of bed without protest. Dover was the last spot of English soil that Richard would ever see. Crowley couldn’t help but feel sorry for him, but he couldn’t afford to grant him more time by dawdling. The king’s men would be abroad searching for their escaped ex-king, and the ports were a prime target. Dover might already be under watch. The next ship to Calais was due to depart tomorrow if the weather held, and they had to be on it. Waiting for the next one was too risky. 

They were quiet as they rode, but Crowley suspected that Richard’s imminent departure had more to do with it than Crowley’s demonic nature. He prayed to Aziraphale, short prayers here and there, probably asking for strength. That’s what humans tended to ask for in times like these, or so Crowley had been told. No one ever prayed to him, so what did he know? 

They reached Dover with an hour of sunlight to spare, an hour that Richard spent gazing out the window of the room at their latest inn after they secured passage on the ship. His face was scrunched with sorrow as he spied on the passerby in the street below. Merchants. Craftsmen. Laborers. None of them must have been remotely interesting to Richard when he was king, yet now they were fascinating. The last taste of his former subjects. Their room didn’t face the sea, which was just as well, for they’d be seeing plenty of it in the next couple of days. But you could smell it, that whiff of salt in the air that could only come from ocean water lapping nearby. Crowley had been enchanted when he’d first smelled it, soon after making the Earth his new home. So much better than the last one, which would never earn that name. Had Richard liked that scent? He probably hated it now. 

The next morning, Crowley awakened Richard before the sun broke through the horizon. He had only been able to sleep at all through Crowley’s help. Crowley hadn’t expected him to accept the offer, but Richard had nodded and sat still while Crowley touched his forehead and sent thoughts of slumber into his tired mind. Richard had dropped off immediately. Yet despite that, the next day Richard clung to consciousness with the hollow-eyed stare of one who hadn’t slept a wink. He dragged his feet while leaving the inn and trudging down the street, and stopped in his tracks before the ship, glued to the port as if he wished to grow roots there and call it a day. People grumbled at them as they walked around, yet Richard still didn’t move, his eyes fixed on the ship as if it were a prison ship about to take him away. He was trembling, too lightly for most people to notice, but the vibrations were unmistakable in the tense air between them. Crowley leaned in close to him, murmuring,

“Richard, we have to go.”

“I can’t.” Crowley’s stomach pinched at the agony in those words. “You can’t just demand that I…” Richard looked behind them back at the land, at England, immense despair in his face. “Just give me a moment, please.”

Crowley relented. It couldn’t do any harm to wait just a little longer by this point. There was still an hour before the ship was due to leave.

“Let’s move out of the way,” he said, steering Richard toward the beach. 

Richard followed him with eager footsteps, a sigh of despair escaping his mouth as they left the wooden planks of the dock and stepped onto the pebbles lining the Devon coastline. Richard strode past him, seeking to put as much distance between himself and the ship as possible before Crowley stopped him, a hand on his arm. Richard halted in his tracks, still shaking, panting, breath whistling between his teeth. He tossed his satchel on the ground and sank down, grabbing at the pebbles beneath him, a sob keening in his throat. Crowley sat down beside him, but kept quiet, letting him mourn in peace, if you could call it that. They remained like this for a long while, the only sounds between them Richard’s half-choked sobs and the soft whooshing of the waves lapping at the sand. 

“The last time I stood on a beach,” Richard said, voice thick with tears, “I lost my kingdom. Now I will lose my home. I should never have left. Should have never banished Bolingbroke. Mowbray. For that deed, I myself am now banished, a banishment of eternal years. Curse the day that I spoke those words. I have been trying, desperate as I am, to take the same comfort that my faithless cousin took when I expelled him from England. That the same sun that shines here will shine upon me. But will it feel like the same sun when the earth beneath my feet is different? When I cannot recognize the smell of the air? When around me no one speaks my native tongue?”

Richard turned towards Crowley, his desperate gaze making Crowley flinch internally. He wasn’t about to beg to stay, was he? That was impossible. It would make this so much harder.

“Please,” Richard said. 

Crowley sucked in a breath, already formulating a rejection in his head.

“If it’s not too much impudence,” Richard continued, “would you tell me… Have you found peace in your banishment?”

Crowley stared at him. Oh. That wasn’t what he had expected. He licked his lips, scrambling for something to say.

“Our circumstances aren’t exactly identical,” he said. “You do remember that, right? You’re not condemned to be stuck in hell for all eternity, not if you play your cards right.”

“I’m aware. You don’t have to answer. Of course you don’t. But you’re the only person I can talk to right now. Aziraphale can’t reply to me. And you know what it’s like to be thrown out of your home.”

Crowley tapped his fingers on his shoes, distressed energy vibrating in his skin.

“I suppose. It did hurt, but it’s not… Heaven isn’t the same for angels as it is for humans. You get to be content and catered to for eternity. We have to deal with bureaucracy and work shifts, all that same fun stuff that humans have to put up with on Earth, except without the famines and diseases. Although we did have the one war, but I really didn’t mean to be in one, and I don’t think I was on the wrong side of it. I didn’t mean to fall, but I believed what I was fighting for, even if it turned out to be for nothing. Hell is worse. Obviously.”

Crowley’s breath clenched, gaze lost in the distance as he remembered the radiance of divine light dancing on his angelic spirit, the ecstasy of creating stars and nebulas, the joy at helping plan the nascent humanity. The belief that God had a plan, untarnished, free of doubt before he noticed the cracks in the design and began to wonder why he had been duped to not question anything in the first place. Heaven, the only home he had ever known, that wonderful, joyous place he had never envisioned leaving, was suddenly grey and stained with the seeds of doubt, its flaws growing the more he focused on them, until they swelled like a mountain range in his sight, impossible to ignore. 

“I don’t miss it,” Crowley said. “Not most of the time. It really isn’t the same. Here, you were the king. In heaven, I was very much not. And France is not hell. Every moment I’m in hell, my skin is crawling and I can’t wait to leave. Whatever you have to do to stay out of that place, do it. Don’t even think about it. But I don’t live in hell really. I just have to go there sometimes. I live here on Earth, same as you. I’ve been here since the beginning, like Aziraphale. With Aziraphale. I like it here. I always have. I don’t really think of myself as having a home, but if I did, it would be here. I have to do what I’m told or pretend to, at least, but mostly, I get to do what I want. It’s nice. So yeah. I wouldn’t say that I’m at peace with being kicked out of heaven, but I like where I am. It’s a lot more fun than heaven, I’ll tell you that. Well, not for you, but I covered that already.”

Richard continued to hug his legs, no less tense than before. 

“You’ll be fine,” Crowley said. “It just takes some getting used to, but you’ll get there.”

Richard glanced at him, then nodded, unwinding himself a little. He looked at the ship, probably picturing it as Charon’s boat come to take him to Hades. Crowley regretted speaking next far more than he’d expected.

“We do have to go.”

It took a surprising amount of effort not to turn away from Richard’s gaze when he met his eyes, red with unshed tears and pleading for an alternate outcome that Crowley couldn’t give him. Turning back to the sea, Richard raised his chin and purged his sorrow from his face into an air of quiet dignity, then pushed himself to his feet and stood straight, arms steady at his sides, wrapping his regal bearing around himself, what tatters of it he had left. It was a much more dignified departure than Crowley had been able to muster. 

“I’m ready,” Richard said, his voice surprisingly calm.

Crowley stood up and led him to the ship. Richard followed quietly this time. No halting at the dock. No sighing in anguish as they got settled in the tiny hole that couldn’t even be called a cabin that Crowley had been able to secure with an exploitative bribe. Yet Richard did insist on being on deck when they left port. He leaned on the guardrail, facing the cliffs slowly fading in the distance, silent tears slipping down his face. Crowley stood at his side, feeling the agony of the prayer that he sent Aziraphale without resentment.


	5. Chapter 5

Aziraphale received Richard’s prayer the very night that Crowley helped him escape. He thanked Aziraphale, reiterating his love and undying gratitude to him. Aziraphale wished that he could send Richard a token, however small, confirming that he heard him, but it was too risky for them both. For now, and until the end of Richard’s life, they would both have to content themselves with this frustrating, one-way communication. Richard’s prayers continued at a rapid pace as he traveled, sometimes arriving hourly. Aziraphale would immediately cease whatever he was doing and dedicate himself solely to listening to him, to his agonies, his fears. 

That moment that Aziraphale had dreaded would probably come occurred only a few days later. It had been a tall order for Crowley to successfully disguise his demonic nature. His dark glasses alone were unusual enough to warrant comment. Crowley had also been a tad short with Richard, which Aziraphale was not happy about, but Richard informed him that Crowley had apologized, so Aziraphale would spare him the sharp words that had been circulating in his head. 

He knew that this had to be incredibly difficult for Crowley. He was so sorry to put him in this position, but he had hoped that Crowley would be a little gentler with Richard. It was no fault of Richard’s that Aziraphale failed to answer Crowley’s affection in the way that he would like. Although, to be fair to Crowley, he did not push or impose upon Aziraphale in any way, but was ever so patient and content to allow Aziraphale to set the pace of their relationship without protest. As much as Aziraphale yearned to be closer to him, he was already pressed hard against the bounds of propriety in even entertaining a friendship with a demon. To step further in would be folly. Aziraphale didn’t have the right constitution to serve in hell. The very thought, foul and loathsome, made him shake and terrified tears spring to his eyes. Crowley would not wish him to have such a fate, not even if it removed the bars set against their relationship. Aziraphale knew this. 

Richard, for his part, was understandably distraught by Crowley’s demonic state. Aziraphale had to endure several frightened prayers, which he was helplessly unable to console him about. There was no possibility of him meeting Richard again on this plane of existence. Two angels had come by his house, demanding to know if he’d had any part in Richard’s escape. While they had left satisfied with Aziraphale’s innocence, he could not risk the possibility, however slight, that he might lead them to Richard. As much as it pained him, Richard’s safety was more important than his peace of mind. 

But Crowley did a good job of soothing him, for Richard came around surprisingly quickly. Or perhaps he still feared Crowley but wished to reassure Aziraphale. 

_He’s your friend_, Richard prayed. _You told me that you trust him above everyone but God, so I will trust him, for I trust you. I know you would never lead me to harm, as undeserving of your protection as I am. I don’t understand how such a friendship could be possible, but I am well informed now about how little I know about the nature of divinity, or hell, or even my own soul._

Hearing these words consoled Aziraphale’s worries. Although, he did wonder at Richard’s lack of comment on Crowley’s physical resemblance to him. Richard had made an observation after first seeing Crowley, asking if there could be some import about resembling an angel, although he then joked that Aziraphale would probably chide him for thinking too highly of himself. Yet now that he knew that the being he looked like was, in fact, a demon, when he should be even more disturbed, he was silent on the subject. Why? Aziraphale waited for Richard to mention it, but he never did. 

Weeks passed with daily prayers filled with sorrow at the painful parting from his homeland, as well as his distress at having to build a new life in a country where he had to hide his native tongue. Crowley had found him a plot of land large enough to produce an income where he didn’t have to do any of the work himself, as his kingly training had hardly allowed for such things. Yet it was also small enough to remain relatively inconspicuous. Crowley would also make it so that anyone who thought to look any closer into Richard’s affairs would reconsider. The intensity of Richard’s gratitude towards Crowley for aiding him was surprising given how disturbed he had been by his true nature. But Aziraphale would not look a gift horse in the mouth. 

After Crowley departed to return to England, Aziraphale began counting the days until his arrival. Crowley could fly back, of course, but it was such a wearisome trip. He’d probably return the same way that he had come. It would certainly be more discreet, and therefore the better choice, even if it lengthened the days until Aziraphale saw him again and was reassured that Crowley was well and in no trouble with his superiors. 

A week after Crowley left Richard, sooner than Aziraphale had expected, he heard that familiar knock on his front door. Putting his nighttime reading down, Aziraphale jumped to his feet and rushed downstairs to open the door. A grin burst on his face upon finding Crowley standing there, safe and sound. He looked no worse for wear, hair and garments impeccable, as always, a small smile on his face as he met Aziraphale’s eyes.

“Somebody’s glad to see me,” he said in that soft drawl of his that Aziraphale enjoyed far more than he willingly admitted to. 

“Of course I’m glad to see you,” Aziraphale said, only now realizing how he was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet in delight. “I’ve been going mad waiting to hear word from you. Come in.”

Aziraphale stepped back and Crowley strode inside, shutting the door behind him. 

“Did you fly part of the way back?” Aziraphale asked, leading the way upstairs. “You’re back sooner than I expected.”

“Yeah. I got tired of waiting for the ferry and flew off when no one was looking. I did stop to get a horse into the city, so you can’t accuse me of not being completely indiscreet.”

“Well, you’re here now. That’s what matters. Would you care for some coffee? Tea?”

They had reached Aziraphale’s study, where Crowley lied down on the Roman style sofa he preferred. 

“I’m good, thanks,” Crowley said, wiggling to get himself comfortable and closing his eyes. “I’m taking a nap right after this. I’m completely knackered.”

Aziraphale placed his desk chair opposite him and sat down, peering at him with concern.

“Was it so tiring to travel with Richard?” he asked. “I’m truly grateful that you consented to do this for me. I hate that I had to ask you.”

Crowley waved his hand in the air to indicate that Aziraphale shouldn’t worry about it. 

“Richard was fine. I got used to him.”

“Eventually,” Aziraphale said, showing his disapproval of Crowley’s initial treatment of Richard.

Crowley winced with chagrin.

“Sorry about that,” he muttered. “He did complain to you, huh?”

“He said that you didn’t warn him before you flew him out of his cell and that you were often short with him. I know it’s a difficult situation. I am very well aware of that. But I had hoped you’d be a tad more understanding with him.”

“I was. I apologized. Didn’t he tell you that I apologized?”

“He did.” Aziraphale’s tone softened. “Thank you. And I hear that you were gentler with him going forward.”

“I was. Exceedingly gentle. I even read a book out to him, and you know how much I hate doing that with someone who isn’t you.”

A fond smile touched Aziraphale’s lips, gratitude swelling in his heart. 

“So Richard told me,” he said, conveying his gratitude in the softness of his voice. 

The slightest relaxation in Crowley’s body indicated that he understood his meaning. 

“We needed something to do,” Crowley said, “all cooped up in inns as we were. And he was really depressed during the crossing. I wanted to distract him a little. I know some of what he’s going through, after all.”

Crowley scratched idly at the cushion under his head, letting his meaning hang in the air between them. It filled Aziraphale with a sting of regret that he hadn’t been more amicable towards Crowley in the beginning. After Eden, they hadn’t seen each other for eight hundred years, partly through Aziraphale’s own doing. He had run across Crowley in the interim, but Aziraphale had immediately fled to avoid interacting with him and thus risking his divinity further. One trespass against God’s law made it easier to commit another, and another, the slippery slope too changeable and dangerous beneath his feet, as was proved by Crowley’s comfort in Aziraphale’s house, and Aziraphale’s pleasure at his company. He had learned to tread very carefully, to recognize what he could not deny himself or Crowley, and what he must should the time come when he was forced to choose. 

“I failed at hiding the demon thing from him, though,” Crowley said. “In my defense, we really should have known better than to try to hide it in the first place.”

Aziraphale sighed.

“I suppose you’re right. He didn’t take it amiss, though, did he? Physically resembling a demon. You two do look awfully alike.”

“That we do, don’t we?”

Something in Crowley’s tone made Aziraphale frown and put himself on his guard. Why did Crowley sound dejected? That didn’t make any sense. They had commented on Crowley’s and Richard’s physical similarities before and Crowley had never been upset about it. A tad annoyed when a nobleman confused him for the king, but that was all. 

Although, now that Aziraphale thought about it, Crowley had acted a bit more annoyed than that. But Aziraphale had always attributed it to inconvenience. Why should it be anything else?

Aziraphale's blood ran cold.

Oh. 

Oh, Aziraphale was a fool. Why didn’t he think? Crowley was looking up at the ceiling, fingers tapping idly at the cushion in lazy exhaustion like he’d said, but there was a tenseness to his form, a sorrowful shade to his weary expression. Crowley was upset. Very upset. And the cause was obvious the moment that Aziraphale made the effort to look. Oh, he was the most callous and unkind of friends. 

“You let him know that it’s merely a coincidence, right?” Aziraphale said, leaning forward, trying to meet Crowley’s eyes if only he would turn back toward him.

“Yeah,” Crowley said, acting nonchalant, but it was only that. An act. “He’s fine. I convinced him that he’s not damned or anything.”

He still didn’t look at Aziraphale. Guilt and shame churched in Aziraphale’s stomach.

“That really is all,” he said, emphasizing the words, trying to alert Crowley that he wasn’t referring to Richard anymore without saying so out loud. “A coincidence.”

Not a replacement. Never a replacement. Oh dear, had Richard feared so, too? Was that why he hadn’t mentioned the physical likeness again? It must be. Both of them thought that they were stand-ins for the other. Oh, how had Aziraphale botched this so completely?

Crowley looked at him then. His mouth was slightly open in surprise, his eyes widening in alarm, questioning whether what Aziraphale spoke of was truly what he understood. Pain flared in his eyes, and Aziraphale almost reached across the distance to let him know how wrong that assumption was. But Aziraphale couldn’t, and not only because it might push him too far into perdition. Crowley was not wrong, not completely, and Richard had every reason to feel slighted by him, even if he was generous enough not to mention it in his prayers. For so had Aziraphale’s attraction to Richard begun. In that face, that body, so similar to one he yearned for yet couldn’t allow himself to touch in any but the most fleeting of ways. He had recriminated himself for it in shame, but the moment that he first spoke to Richard, it was so apparent that they were two entirely different people that their physical resemblance became less and less important, so Aziraphale ceased thinking of Crowley while with Richard. Yet some moments did come. A few, treacherous flares of thought, like when Richard had touched his wings. But he didn’t mean to compare them. He had absolutely no wish to. And Crowley’s face now didn’t remind him of Richard. Except, that now the thought was in his head, so it did a bit. 

Treacherous mind! Why must it betray him so? 

“You do understand that it’s a coincidence?” Aziraphale asked, his desperation leaking into his voice. “Please tell me that you do understand.”

Crowley’s gaze was so desperate that Aziraphale was almost compelled to look away, but he would not be such a coward as to hide from Crowley now. Either out of pity or true comprehension, Crowley nodded, tempering his response with a reassuring smile that faltered in its purpose in Aziraphale’s guilty heart. 

“I understand,” Crowley said. “There’s no need to go all doe-eyed on me. You know what? I will have that coffee, after all, thanks.”

A transparent excuse to have a moment alone, but Aziraphale indulged him. It was the least that he could do after being so insensitive to Crowley’s feelings. With a kind smile, he left for the kitchen and took his time preparing the coffee. If only he could apologize to Richard, too, but that wouldn’t be possible for a long while. By the time he returned to the study, Crowley looked his usual, cheerful self, if a bit tired, and accepted his cup with a soft “thank you” and no sign that he had been upset earlier. A little voice in the back of Aziraphale’s mind said sternly that he should press the matter, be open with Crowley for once with words as much as deeds, make it clear how dear he was to him.

He stayed silent. They both did what they always did, and stayed silent.

```````````````

Richard prayed to Aziraphale every day. Aziraphale had neither demanded not expected that Richard would do so, yet as the days grew into weeks, months, then years, Richard continued to speak to him daily, sometimes for something as short as to express his frustration over a lack of proper writing implements. Crowley sometimes featured in these prayers. He checked up on Richard regularly, making sure that he was healthy, remained well hidden, and lacked for nothing. Hell had been pleased by him losing heaven their prize, but hadn’t demanded much in terms of further action. A hint here and there of Richard’s continued existence to vex King Henry, that was all, false trails that posed no risk to Richard. Crowley also delivered letters between Aziraphale and Richard. Crowley had been unsure about the wisdom of doing so at first in case an angel discovered Richard and the letters in his possession. But it was a small risk, and Aziraphale couldn’t bear it if he had to wait years to explain to Richard that his love for him wasn’t the result of his physical appearance. Richard wrote back, overjoyed at hearing from him. Aziraphale treasured these letters, storing them in a safe location in his desk. He tried to dampen his enthusiasm over them when Crowley delivered them so he wouldn’t feel slighted. It really was the most awkward arrangement. He really did abuse Crowley’s generosity too much. But every time that he told Crowley that he was under no obligation to do anything further, Crowley looked at him like he’d said something silly. 

But it wasn’t only for him that Crowley did these things. A friendship developed between Richard and Crowley. Crowley wouldn’t speak much of it and Aziraphale feared to pry, so he depended on the pieces that Richard recounted to him. They still read aloud to each other. Crowley provided him with music, sometimes playing himself, and indulged Richard’s desire for conversation with someone who knew his true identity, seeming to enjoy it as much as he did. Aziraphale was grateful for this but suspected that, while he had been the one to bring them together, their relationship had less and less to do with him all the time. That was only fair. He would have hated to be an awkward thorn between them. 

And yet, Crowley felt a bit more distant with him during the first, few years. A bit gloomier. Aziraphale would often find him gazing off in the distance with an air of melancholy. He denied it when Aziraphale mentioned it. Aziraphale told himself that the similarity in Crowley’s and Richard’s banishments had stirred up ugly memories that he didn’t wish to talk about. He had only told Aziraphale bits and pieces of his fall, all horrifying and still quite traumatic. But a stinging suspicion at the forefront of Aziraphale’s mind told him that he was merely ignoring what he didn’t wish to see. 

At the venerable old age of 77, Richard passed away from a fever. Aziraphale felt his soul fly up to heaven. He almost collapsed on the street at the shock of it, his left hand clutched to his heart despite its lack of beating, while his right sought the nearest building to lean against. He shut his eyes in gratitude for Richard’s long life and salvation, but also in pain at the severance of his friendship with Crowley, for they would never be able to see each other again. This bleak outcome was not one that Aziraphale had anticipated when he devised the escape plan. He was most sorry for it even if Crowley brushed away his apologies every time he tried to express his regret.

“I knew what I was getting into,” he had said. “I don’t regret it, angel, so don’t you start doing so, either.”

Pushing himself off the wall, Aziraphale took a moment to compose himself, inhaling deep, steadying breaths, then rushed home to cast a transportation circle to ascend to heaven. No one had suspected him of aiding in Richard’s escape, so there was nothing suspicious about his immediate eagerness to see him. As a principality, his rank was high enough that he didn’t need to ask permission to visit the Halls of the Saved, where human souls resided. Each human soul was allotted their own, ideal place to live in, which changed if they wished it to. The initial form of this residence tended to be wherever first popped into their minds when they thought of home, so it was no surprise to find Richard in a recreation of one of his old estates, a castle in which he had been happy as a child before the monarchy was thrust upon him by his grandfather’s death. An imitation sun shone overhead atop a hilly field ringed by woodlands, the castle rising in the background, its interior filled with every pleasure Richard could desire. 

He was riding a horse akin to his favorite Barbary, his long hair streaming behind him in the gentle breeze, his face open and bright with the glow of a joyful soul in paradise. He had been restored to youth and looked just like Aziraphale remembered him in his better days, beautiful and happy, free of the grief of cruel incarceration and banishment. Aziraphale appeared a little distance before him to not startle him. As soon a Richard spotted him, he reigned his horse in, mouth falling open in surprise before grinning even more brightly and spurring the horse forward into a gallop. Aziraphale’s wings fluttered at his back and he met him halfway, unwilling to wait any longer to hold him in his arms. Richard jumped off his horse and into Aziraphale’s arms, nearly knocking them to the ground with the fervor of his hug. Aziraphale held them steady, but he would have been glad to tumble to the grass with him. Despite being an unhoused soul now, Richard felt no less warm or vital. Aziraphale kissed his cheek, delighting in the familiar softness of it, now no longer in need of shaving unless the soul desired it. Aziraphale’s heart swelled with joy, throat clenching with happy tears.

“Richard,” he cried, grinning broadly.

“Aziraphale. Oh, my darling Aziraphale.”

Richard buried his face into Aziraphale’s shoulder, kissing his neck before raising his head and proceeding to pepper his cheeks with the happiest and gentlest of kisses. 

“Lord, I’ve missed you,” Aziraphale said, cradling Richard’s face, getting a good, welcome look at his darling Richard. 

“Me, too, old friend,” Richard said. “How I’ve longed for this moment.”

“Me, too. I’d hoped it wouldn’t be soon, yet I still yearned for it so. But there’s no more need to worry now. You’re here. You made it. I told you you would.”

“I clung to that hope, even if I, I confess, wasn’t always certain of it. Not because of you or Crowley. How is Crowley?” Sadness entered his eyes. “I’ll never see him again, will I?”

Aziraphale shook his head, throat clenching at Richard’s sorrow. 

“I’m afraid not. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. I’m not sure it’s his, either.”

Aziraphale frowned at that, afraid to agree, even though he suspected, perhaps… 

But God’s judgment couldn’t be wrong, could it? Everything was always for the best. All part of the divine plan. Including Crowley’s fall, which Crowley did admit to having a part in. It wasn’t right to question God’s plan like he had, or mock and roll his eyes at it, which Aziraphale really wished that he wouldn’t do in his presence. 

Richard brushed his hands through Aziraphale’s hair, his touch sending a wave of contentment and reassurance down Aziraphale’s body that made him feel even more conflicted. For had Richard’s premature death not been ordained by Heaven? And had Aziraphale not stopped it, with the aid of a demon, no less? 

“Crowley will miss you,” Aziraphale said, interrupting his fiendish thought process before it could continue to fester. 

Richard’s smile turned bittersweet.

“I will miss him, as well. But I have you here now. My sweet angel, to whom I owe my life and my cheerful fate. Look.”

He swept his right hand out, indicating the majestic castles and grounds behind him, his smile growing. 

“I am king again! Without any of the cares or toils of being a king of men.”

Aziraphale smiled, sinking his hands into his hair, which he had so yearned to touch. He hated himself a little for pushing the thought of Crowley away.

“I am happy for you. This is all I ever wanted for you.”

“You will visit me again, won’t you? Often?” 

Richard’s face turned plaintive with that charming pout that Aziraphale had only ever pretended to resist.

“As often as you wish, my dear.”


End file.
